The King's Players
by AlexG
Summary: 5th in the series. Sometimes a flash of psychic paper isn't enough to convince everyone you are who you say you are. When the Doctor and Quinn are literal show stoppers during a play, they have to get very good at improv in a short time. But there's something sinister going on off stage. He always says he believes it's possible, but can the Doctor really win a war with words alone?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: As promised, the Doctor and Quinn are back! I got several chapters written during my little break so I'm now ready to start posting each week again. Hopefully I can stay ahead this time. Thanks for all your support during the break; it's nice - and a little ego stroking - to know I was missed.**

* * *

Quinn couldn't really blame anybody but herself, she thought. If there was one thing she should have known by now, it was that accuracy was called for when making a request of the Doctor. "Shopping" wasn't clear enough, you had to be specific. "Retail," was a word you should definitely use, as well as "mall" and "store", and it would never hurt to specify a century in there somewhere as well. If you didn't do these things, you had nobody but yourself to blame when you found yourself in a bazaar built in the treetops of a jungle trying to pick up a few things.

Not that it hadn't turned out to be a fruitful trip. The local currency was based on trading of shells and semiprecious gems, and the Doctor had unique specimens they'd never seen before. That had gotten her quite a bit of store credit, or whatever store credit was called when you were interacting with a primitive, barter-based economy. She'd got some nice things, even, but none that she really needed. The whole point of the trip was to get a heavy winter jacket that would actually fit her, and pick up some new maternity clothes, but the concept of stretchy waistlines was about a thousand years away for this society and there wasn't much demand for heavy winter clothes when you lived in a tropical environment. But, she thought, opening one of her bags and looking over its contents, at least they made some beautiful things.

She'd bought a few odds and ends - a scarf here, a bottle of perfume there - and was about to head back to the TARDIS when a young man waved her over to his booth. Curious, she wandered over to see what he was peddling. There was very little merchandise on the shelves of the small kiosk he was set up in - just a few various odds and ends that didn't seem to be in any way related. One thing looked like a pair of binoculars, another was a silver serving tray, there were a few dishes and serving spoons, and what appeared to be a chess set made out of iron or bronze. Maybe this was the local equivalent of a swap meet?

"Something for the lovely lady?" the man asked with a thick accent, and reaching into his pocket he pulled out a pendant on a chain, presenting it for her. It was a small pendant, about the size of a half dollar. The center had a multi-faceted topaz gem that caught the light beautifully, and that was set into a tight coiling of very fine gold wires that circled around the outside of the gem - the final effect almost looked like a yellow daisy the way the coils surrounded the gem. It was beautiful, the kind of beautiful that simply guarantees that the item is outside your price range.

She smiled. "It's lovely but I couldn't possibly afford it," she said.

The man smiled. "You are sure?" he asked. "I see you are not from around here by your hair." That made sense. Every other person she'd seen - male and female - had short cropped hair, probably because of the heat. "Maybe you don't know the currency, no? Show to me your _ka-ta_."

She rolled her eyes and smiled. "Okay," she said lightly, pulling out the slip the cashiers had all been writing on today, showing the balance of her account. She showed it to the man, and she expected him to laugh in her face, say she was right, she didn't have enough at all, and tell her to get lost. But he didn't do any of those things. Instead he took the slip, put it in his pocket, and put the necklace into an ornately carved wooden box.

"For the lovely lady," he said, "that will do, very good." And he held the box out for her to take.

"What? No!" she said. "I couldn't take this, it'd be robbery!"

"Oh no, miss, it is perfect. Trust in me, the compensation is... perfect."

She bit her bottom lip, thinking. "Really?" she asked. "I mean, really actually, really?"

"Please," he said, "Consider it is, to me, a personal favor. Please take it."

She smiled, reaching out to take the box gingerly from his hand. "Okay," she said, smiling. "I will. Thank you."

"Thank _you_," he said. "Thank you more than you know."

She walked away, continuing on towards the TARDIS and smiling. This almost made up for the fact that she hadn't been able to actually accomplish her goals for the day.

Almost.

She was starting to realize that traveling with the Doctor was all about going with the flow, which she didn't mind as much as she thought she might have, to be fair. She had always been used to being completely in charge of any situation she entered into, and the master of her own destiny, so this was definitely a change of pace for her. And while it turned out that it was a pretty enjoyable way to live and at another point in her life she might have let herself get completely lost in it, the Doctor didn't always seem to understand the difference between wanting to go someplace and needing to. If she needed to pick up more of her vitamins, get new clothes, get a check-up, or anything else, she practically had to force him to do it.

She was sure it wasn't malicious - she'd seen the way he took care of people and she was no exception; he'd go to the ends of the universe to protect her, it seemed. But he was clearly not used to living on any sort of schedule or keeping track of specific "to-do"s and making sure they got done on time. When you had all of time itself at your disposal, to manipulate to your whims, she supposed that worked just fine, but her own personal timeline marched on, no matter what, and she was getting closer and closer to her due date with each passing second. That never changed, whether they went to the far-flung past or the distant future, and sometimes she didn't think the Doctor understood that.

He hadn't even come with her, either, and that had kind of sucked initially, but now she was greatful for the time to herself, for not having to run around at a breakneck pace all the time. It was nice to have a little more of a leisurely afternoon, she thought. Still, she wondered what the Doctor was doing that was so important he'd turn down a chance to see the beautifully strange bazaar she'd just spent the afternoon in - the kind of thing that seemed like it was definitely his cup of tea. Oh well, it couldn't be helped. He'd probably been to so many of these things that it seemed boring to him. For that matter, he was a guy. Guys hated shopping, and Quinn was pretty sure that was a universal truth no matter what planet they came from. Well, except Kurt, but that was a different story.

She unlocked the door to the TARDIS and stepped inside, setting her bags down on the floor next to the hat rack. The Doctor was nowhere to be seen, and with a sigh she started the search through the back corridors of the ship. About ten minutes later, she found him in The Fifth Study. That was what he called it - The Fifth Study. When she asked what happened to the first four studies, he simply replied that he'd lost them, but not to worry, they'd turn up somewhere, sometime. She'd said she wasn't worried about his lost studies in the slightest, and he'd actually looked hurt that she said it. Since then she'd avoided the topic.

"There you are," she said, and he'd given a little start when she spoke. Clearly he'd been engrossed in whatever he was doing, and she could see why. Above his head, a hologram turned slowly. She had no idea what she was looking at. Over on one side was a list, or the equivalent of one - she couldn't read the Gallifreyan script. It was always unsettling to look at it, either here or on the scanner in the console room, and not know what it said. She didn't realize how much she'd gotten used to the automatic translation the TARDIS did for her until, suddenly, it wasn't doing it any longer. The much larger part of the display was a series of nodes, hollow transparent spheres of varying sizes and colors all floating up in the air. A line connected each of the spheres to each other, sometimes running right through the center of one and, at other times, barely touching the edges of another one.

He turned to her and smiled one of his biggest grins. "Quinn!" he said. "How was shopping?"

"Mixed results," she said. "I got a couple nice things... just not the kinds of things I needed."

"Oh? Why not?"

"Doctor. This is a bazaar, in a treehouse, in a jungle." She approached him underneath the spinning hologram and took him by the shoulders, making him look her in the eye. "Listen to me, very carefully," she said slowly, not wanting him to miss a single word. "I am pregnant. I need maternity clothes. I need polyester and elastic and synthetic fibers and stretchy material. Find me a place that has all these things and you won't be trapped in a blue box with a very angry, hormonal teenager."

He blew his bangs out of his eyes with a puff and said, "Oh, alright. It's always the way with you lot, you know. I try to expand your horizons but it's always all, 'I want something familiar, I want something sanitary, I don't want to eat that thing even if it is deep fried it just crawled out of a green ocean,' I dunno. Sometimes I wonder why I bother."

It was evident that he was teasing her from his tone, not legitimately disappointed in her, so she gave him crap right back. "Deep fried green ocean critters? It _has_ been a long morning. Lunch sounds good."

He smiled. "No seafood for you, remember? Doctor's orders." He turned and strode out the door. "Come on, we'll go get something."

She didn't follow him. She was looking up at the hologram now. "What's this?" she called, and he poked his head back through the door.

"Oh, that," he said, looking at the hologram. "Just charting out a course, finding the next cool place to be."

"Is that it? Is that where we're going?"

"Oh, maybe someday," he said. "C'mon."

She left the study, giving the hologram one last glance as she did so. "Are those planets?" she asked, following him.

"Yep," he said. "Sure are. Lovely little solar system out in the southern spiral arm. You'll love it."

"Ooh," she said. "I can't wait."

"Not just yet," he said. "Sometime soon, sure, but not just yet. I've got something else in mind."

"What's that?"

"A deli. I'm starved. It's definitely lunchtime."

The TARDIS dematerialized, fading out of existence in the alcove where it had been nestled. The young man who had sold Quinn the necklace watched it go. "Perfect," he said, although there was nobody about. "Now we can discuss payment."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Aww, shucks! Thanks for the outpouring of support; I'm glad you all are excited for the return of the series like I am. I'm getting good ideas again that I can only attribute to giving my brain a little rest, so thanks for that.**

**Will the Doctor and Quinn kiss, I was asked? Hm. I hadn't considered it... I kind of see their relationship more like a father/daughter thing, plus I'm not sure it's appropriate for 900+ year old aliens to make out with sixteen year old pregnant Earth girls, but... hm. You plant interesting possibilities in my head. Perhaps I'll water them and see if they grow.**

**ALSO, did you all see the series 7 finale? WHAT IS THAT I DON'T EVEN! 187 days... just gotta wait 187 days...**

* * *

Callie sat on the couch as primly as she possibly could, palms on her knees, trying to make herself look physically small, to take up as little space as possible. Every ragged breath made her body tremble. She was showing every outward sign of fear possible, even though she really didn't feel anything of the sort inside. Tonight didn't matter in the long run - if there would be a long run. She wasn't sure there would be at this point. But that decision wouldn't be made tonight. Just give it time, she thought, and she'd be quaking in her boots just like everyone else. Nonetheless, she congratulated herself on her outward showmanship. It was terribly be important that this appear convincing, or the consequences could be very real indeed.

The whole room was silent, everyone completely hushed as if they feared shattering the delicate situation if they were to make any sudden movements. She looked over to her left, at the man leaning against the mantle of the tiny living room. The room was perfectly set up - just the right number of knick-knacks to imply a whimsical personality, just enough photos on the wall to indicate the importance of family in her life, every single item part of a carefully crafted image that someone had made for her. He looked out of place in the room, his crisply pressed, drab military uniform standing in sharp contrast to the warmth of the room around him. But then again, that was exactly the feeling his appearance was supposed to invoke.

His casual posture belied the seriousness of the situation. He picked up a picture frame and stroked the wood with two fingers, not really appearing to be looking at it so much as through it, as if it were as insignificant as a bit of lint on his sleeve. "I'm sorry, could you repeat the question captain Saunders?" she asked in a childlike voice.

"You heard me perfectly well," the man replied, "and you _will _give me the information I'm looking for. Now I won't ask you again. Where's your husband?"

"I don't know."

"Where's the case he stole from the king's chambers?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about! How many times must I tell you?"

The man wasn't calm anymore. Suddenly his temper flared up. He threw the picture frame against the far wall where the glass shattered and, stepping forward, he upended the coffee table with his boot. She lunged backwards, pressing herself more fully into the couch under the towering figure now standing directly before her. He leaned down and grabbed her by the lapels of her blouse. Dragging her face up to his own, nose to nose with her now, he growled out, "I am not playing with you, you verminous insect! Your husband is a known associate of the Travelers, a traitor to king and country. Now, you will tell me where he is, you will tell me where His Majesty's property is, and I will consider sparing your life."

He threw her back down on the couch. She stood shakily back to her feet, putting one hand to her throat and gasping for breath. She hated when he held her that way - not the feeling of powerlessness or paralyzing fear. No, she was used to that in her everyday life. It was simply the pain of being jostled so that bothered her. Nobody should have to endure pain like this, not even for the cause.

She staggered over to the bar under the watchful gaze of the officer, getting ready to run, muscles tensing. As nonchalantly as possible she poured herself a drink. Then without turning back to him she said, "You've made a mistake."

"There is no mistake," the officer bellowed from his position near the couch. "Traffic has been intercepted between this residence and encrypted relay buoys known to be in use by the Travelers. Your husband is most definitely a sympathizer, and I think you are hiding him."

"Then as I said, you've made a mistake." And before he could say anything else in reply, she opened a drawer on the bar, pulled out a pistol, and shot him cleanly through the heart. "I don't need my husband to do my dirty work."

She walked back to the couch, briskly and efficiently flipping the couch cushions over to reveal a hidden compartment, from which she pulled a large black case. Slinging the strap over her arm, she made for the door, but stopped when a trilling sound caught her attention back in the room. She spared the corpse of the officer a look, and was surprised to see that one of the buttons of the overcoat had begun to flash and squeal. An alarm of some sort, most likely.

She wrenched the door open and stepped out onto the porch, already hearing the sound of the helicopter and seeing light streaming down from above to seek her out. It was an alert, she realized, probably tied into the soldier's vital signs. If anything happened to him, the others would be alerted to his presence. In a very, very short time this place would be swarming with officers, all with itchy trigger fingers, ready to help take down one of the Travelers and claim their rightful place as leaders in the community. They would be heroes, lauded and adored, becoming exalted pillars of the community, all for hunting her down and killing her. The air of competition among the soldiers was great, only serving to incentivise them into greater and greater acts of cruelty. There was no recognition for long service, no recognition for heroism or bravery. Only kills. A single ear was all you needed to prove you had the mettle to work on the top rung of society. Even though she knew that tonight was not as significant as it might be under different circumstances, the thought made her stomach turn with rage. The government had made a game out of killing her and people like her, just for thinking differently.

Was she any different, though? Any better? How had she repaid her allies? By participating in this ridiculous charade. It would almost have been laughable if it weren't so terribly sad instead. She pushed the feeling down. She had a job to do, and she would do it well. Others were depending on her, after all. She gave one last glance at the house, packing as much longing and desperation into the moment that she possibly could. She would be leaving her home for the last time, she realized, one way or another. And with one deep breath, she ran.

There were soldiers in the street, so she ducked down into an alley, still clutching the case. There was a safehouse not far from there. If she could just get there then she would be safe, at least for the time being, but she knew intellectually that it could never be that way. Still, she had to believe it if it were to look real.

She knew the soldiers were coming before they actually appeared, of course, but she still screamed and threw her hands up in the air when they jumped out and pointed their guns at her. "Please," she said, "I'm being chased by Travelers! You have to help me!" but they weren't buying her story, not for an instant, which was something she knew would be the case, ultimately. Besides, they knew her. They stepped out of the shadows almost in unison, revealing their faces. The Stanton brothers, Brock and Marv, were here to cause her trouble once again.

They advanced on her, each of the pair holding their weapons out in front of them at arm's length, keeping them trained on her. She backed away slowly, but the entrance to the alley was too far away, and she'd never reach it in time.

"Kate Milligan," Brock said, addressing Callie directly. "You have been found guilty of multiple crimes," said.

"Aiding and abetting, harboring a dangerous fugitive, betrayal, and thievery against his majesty the King," Marv supplanted. "Surrender the case and yourself to be imprisoned, or die here like the vermin you are. Choose."

She smiled a wry smile. "You'll never take me alive! I'm too strong. We, the populace, are too strong! Harm me and two others will appear in my place!"

"So be it," Brock said, and both brothers fired their weapons. Callie fell down in the alleyway, onto her back, the two soldiers now standing directly over her, aiming their weapons at her head. She felt something burst as she fell, felt the pool of liquid starting to form beneath her and spread out over the floor, the cool liquid, staining the cobblestones a deep crimson. She gasped and sputtered for air.

Brock spoke again. "By order of his Majesty the King," the first soldier said, "I declare you an enemy of the state. The penalty is execution." He reached down and grabbed the bag from her, and she found herself too weak to fight him for it. "Look what your rebellion has wrought," the soldier said. "Look at yourself, look at where you are now. Anyone would be a fool to follow the Travelers now; it brings nothing but ruin. Your own personal insurrection will end. Now. But fear not, for the rest will follow along nipping at your heels." He quieted his tone only in terms of volume, not intensity, when he leaned down by her ear and said, "You won't be alone long, ma'am. Because as far as I can help it, I will fight to make sure that every last one of the associates of the Travelers ends up dead and buried. By their very nature, martyrs must be rebels, and martyrs by their very nature must die. Now, Marv," he said, and the two of them pointed their weapons at her head and fired. There was a split second of some crackling sound, and then, from her point of view, blackness. Simple, utter blackness. "And so it must be, for those who fail to follow the King."

"Yes, brother. No actor against the King can stand."

There was an utterly hushed silence over the whole scene, which nobody dared to break for fear of upsetting the delicate balance. Then, very suddenly, the light returned. Callie stood up, dusted herself off, and smiled. The soldiers from the alleyway smiled, likewise. The man from her house earlier appeared on stage, followed by her husband, her best friend... all people who had died in the name of the resistance mere hours before assembled, each one smiling and proud of whatever they had done to contribute to this evening's success. Joining hands with all the others, she took a bow. It was at that moment that the audience went wild with appreciation for their skill.

The theater was a small venue, seating less than five hundred, but it's work was important, or so they were told often enough by those in charge. Callie stepped forward from the line of actors and gave a huge bow, reaching forward to accept a bouquet of flowers the stage manager handed her and waving to the audience. The huge smile plastered on her face now was just as fake as her fear had been moments ago. The audience thought their act had finished for the night. Really, it was just beginning.

She stepped back in the line and waved once more as the curtain closed in front of them. Robert, the director and playwright, approached from backstage and gave her a tight hug, neither of them wanting to let go.

"You were brilliant," he whispered in her ear. "Listen! They love you!"

"Yeah," she said, "but what about tomorrow night?"

"You just sell your performance like you did tonight and we'll be fine, all of us. Everyone that matters."

She pulled out of the embrace and looked him right in the eye. "You really think the King will like me?"

He hesitated for just a moment, only long enough for her to notice, but then he nodded. She knew it wasn't any doubt about her abilities that made him consider it. Truthfully, the King's whims were unpredictable even at the best of times, and knowing how he would react with certainty was impossible. But he smiled wanly and said, "Just remember who we're doing this for. If you do that, your performance will follow."

"Mr. Delerno?" one of the stagehands said, coughing to announce his presence. "Some of the critics would like an interview."

"Of course, Steve. I'll be right there," he said. Then quieting his voice and turning back to her he asked, "You alright?"

"Just nerves. I'll be fine," she said. "Go on, Robert, go enjoy your big moment!"

The other actors had dispersed by now, and she was all alone on the living room set. She sat down in the same seat she'd been in minutes before, her legs trembling so that they threatened to give way beneath her as she sat down. She'd only been acting before, but ironically she was now utterly and completely terrified.

DAVID TENNANT

DIANNA AGRON

DOCTOR WHO

THE KING'S PLAYERS


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Just in case anyone wondered about my writing process (which I'm sure nobody did), sometimes a story comes into place when I have a picture of a scene in my head that won't go away, so working from there and moving backwards towards the beginning I create a whole story around it. This was one of those times, and it came from a conversation with a friend and fellow Whovian who asked, "So, what's the most awkward place the Doctor could land the TARDIS?" This won out over the other possibility, which is right next to the short stop during a baseball game; preferably game 7 of the World Series.**

* * *

"I've traveled the whole of time and space," the Doctor said, a scowl forming on his face. "I've crossed the galaxies time and time again, I've stared into the very heart of evil... and that is the most disgusting thing I've ever seen."

Quinn Fabray rolled her eyes and sighed. "Dramatic much?"

"It's just... inconceivable!"

"It's not that bad."

"A strawberry jam and goose pâté sandwich? Not that bad? I'd sooner lick a Sontaran's head. It'd probably taste better and all."

"Stop being such a wuss," she said, reaching for the hot mustard and putting a generous dollop on top of the bread before she took a bite. She closed her eyes and moaned a little in pleasure. "That hit the spot," she said, and took another huge bite while the Doctor looked on in disgust.

"Just... don't drip any of that on the console," he said. "The last thing I want is to be catapulted into the dark ages by a misplaced gobbet of goose liver."

She rolled her eyes as she ran a hand over the console. "Where are we going this time?"

"Where would you like?"

She smiled gleefully at him. "Somewhere fun," she said. "I feel like celebrating."

"Celebrating what, exactly?"

"I have no idea," she said, smiling. "But for the first time in a long time I just feel _good_. I don't feel like puking, I'm not depressed, and my hair has never looked better."

He smiled. "You can thank elevated hormone levels for that. The sebaceous glands on the surface of the skin react-"

"No, no, no!" She said. "It's a good day. Don't... scienceify it."

"That's not even a proper word."

"Shut it!" she said, pointing an accusing finger. "It never stopped _you_. Unless you're going to try to tell me that 'flobbity' is a technical term."

"Fine, fine," he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Far be it from me to ruin the moment."

"I thought that was your speciality."

* * *

"Alright people, places!" Robert called. The hubbub on the set slowly died out as everyone gathered around the director. "Alright, we had a spectacular opening night last night," he said, "but we all know that for all intents and purposes, that was only a dry run. Tonight's the real test, when we see if the play pleases our patron."

"And pray to God it will..." said one of the members of the lighting crew.

"I think that goes without saying, Josh," Robert replied. "Now," He was ready to go on, but Josh interrupted him again.

"Does it? Because I seem to remember a few flubbed lines and missed music cues last night."

"That's why we're all here. To polish any last rough spots," Robert said, but this time it was Howard, his Mr. Milligan, who cut him off.

"And I suppose the lighting was perfect, then, eh Josh? My dearest wife's bedroom sure seemed pretty bright, even after she turned the lights out after my funeral."

"Those lighting cues were right on schedule," Josh said, wagging a finger angrily at Howard. "It's not my fault she rushed through the monologue and forgot the last line."

"I'm doing the best I can," Callie said. "It's not my fault I had to come in so late in the production. If Angie hadn't gotten wrapped up in something stupid and... and..."

"You stupid girl," the manager of the props department, Clegg, grumbled. "D'you think the King will be interested in your blubbering excuses?"

"Now wait, people," Robert said, but he was cut off.

"Hey, don't talk to her like that!" Howard said. "You can't talk to her that way."

"Oh shut up, Hackett," Josh said. "you do know you're not actually married to the little tramp, right? Or has it all become too real for you? I mean, for all we know Angie wouldn't have done what she did if Robert hadn't filled her head with all that Traveler propaganda..."

"People, please, we're professionals here," Robert tried again, but by now everyone was talking over everyone else.

Callie, for her part, seemed like she was on the verge of tears. "I don't know why you all hate me so much," she said. "What happened to her was not my fault..."

By now the rest of the cast and crew were getting into it as well,

"...I wouldn't be surprised if she turned her in herself..."

"...make sure tonight goes off without a hitch..."

"...certainly going to do all I can, not that I speak for any of you amateurs..."

"...idiot..."

"...moron..."

"...washed-up has-been..."

"...worked for years in this field, and I'll tell you another thing..."

"...did the best I could..."

"...shut the hell up and leave me..."

Robert stuck his fingers in his mouth and blew as hard as he could, making a shrill whistle echo throughout the backstage area. "That's enough!" But the argument wasn't dying down, not by a long shot. He rolled his eyes and reached out for the gun in the holster of Soldier #2, as portrayed by . The weapon wasn't dangerous, of course, it was just a prop - but it was certainly loud enough. He ripped the gun from the holster, raised it above his head, and fired into the air. The bang made everyone jump and they stared at the source of the noise. "I _said_, that is _enough_!" He thrust the weapon back at Soldier #2 who caught it awkwardly. "There isn't anyone here who likes the way this turned out," he said, making eye contact with each person in the circle as he spoke. "This isn't what any of us set out to do when we started, and we've lost a lot of people. Good people. People we care about." He took a deep breath to steady himself. "There isn't a single one of us who doesn't know the stakes for tonight, and we're all on edge. But we're not going to get through it unless we all work together. Okay?" There was a murmur of begrudging agreements, a few hushed and hastily spoken apologies, and then they were back to work. "Good job folks. Now, lets start with the interrogation scene. Three hours until curtain call," he said, clapping his hands together. "Let's make them count!"

* * *

The final scene before the first act ended was the most important one of all, Robert thought. Maybe none of the others would have agreed - certainly not the King - but to him it was the clearest moment of his artistic expression. Just like the remainder of the dramatic scenes in the play, it took place in the Milligans' living room, and he was determined that this scene go right. He'd rehearsed the whole scene start to finish with the troupe two times this afternoon. In a few moments they'd be doing it again, and he wanted to be there for it, hopefully to see the King's reaction.

He folded the paper he'd been reading. Initial reviews from last night were conservatively positive, and there was no shortage of people clamoring for tickets. The media had been hyping the show ever since the King had endorsed it personally.

"Come see the new sensation, now prepared as a fully-endorsed stage experience," the ads said. If only they'd known what 'preparation' actually meant. _The Traveler's Folly_ was the play he'd envisioned in name only - except he'd written this version instead. Did that make him a traitor to the party, he wondered?

He could mull over his artistic integrity later. Right now, the scene he wanted to see - the one that was least perverted of them all and yet also the one that had started this roller coaster ride to begin with - was starting. He made his way out to the wings and stood just offstage, watching Calli and Howard as Kate and Frank in a heated discussion.

"We can just give it to them," she was saying. "We'll give them what they want. It'll mean a few years in prison, yes. It's a setback, I know. But at least both of us will be alive!"

"No!" Her husband exclaimed, slamming his fist on the coffee table. "No way no how. This is what we wanted to achieve, and we can't back down now."

She came and sat next to him, grasping his hands in hers. "You know full well this is not what I wanted." He raised an eyebrow at her. "Alright, it is, but not like this," she said. "It's not worth it!"

"Yes it is," he said, "and you know it. This is what we worked for, and we've done too much to let it go now."

"I don't care about it anymore. I care about you. I won't let you throw your life away for this."

The sound of a distant klaxon started playing. "It's too late," Howard said. He stood and moved to the other side of the room, against the mantle, admiring a photo that had been placed there. The picture frame was empty - Howard was only acting as if there were a photo there. As he stood leaning against the fireplace he looked right out at the audience through the glass, and Robert took a moment to admire his own blocking. That scene was full of the kind of metaphor that critics just ate up, left, right, and center.

The klaxons grew louder, soon accompanied by the sound of a legion of booted feet running around outside the house. This was the poignant scene, the one that was supposed to shock people right before the second act ended. When the soldiers were about to burst in, Howard would smile forlornly at the picture frame and replace it on the mantle. He would kneel down in a perfect picture of submission, ready to be arrested. But the soldiers wouldn't arrest him at all; as soon as they entered the house they would see him across the room and shoot him dead right there in the living room. The cruelty was the driving force in Kate Milligan's character development, the thing that would turn her from an uninvolved pacifist trying to ignore her husband's political activities after hours in the dark, to the very leader of the resistance. It was beautiful, it was untouched, and it was the only thing left in the play that Robert was in any measure proud of.

Howard - though at this point, in some way, he really became Frank - looked at the imaginary photograph forlornly, just like he was supposed to. He knelt down with his hands on his head, like he was supposed to.

And then something happened that wasn't supposed to happen.. something that had never happened on this planet before, something the likes of which nobody had ever seen and never would again as long as they lived.

As Robert looked on from the wings, a few of the fabric pieces on set fluttered slightly. There must be a breeze getting into the set from somewhere. He'd have to have Clegg look for it during the intermission, he thought, see if there was anything they could do. But they didn't stop. Soon even heavier things on set were moving. A book lying on its side blew open and the pages started flapping in the sudden breeze.

Then there was the sound. Picking up from no place at all, a whistling hiss turned into a grinding like someone was tearing holes in the fabric of space. Howard was still on his knees waiting for his mock arrest, but even he looked up when he realized something was amiss.

Before their very eyes, a light started to flash on and off in the middle of the air in front of Frank. A few seconds later, as the wheezing sound echoed throughout the entire theater, something began to form in the space before him - a hard thing with sharp, angular lines and strange writing on it. A thing that declared, in large, bold, audacious letters that it was a "Police Public Call Box." And then just as suddenly, the wind died away and the sound faded, leaving nothing but stunned, mouth-agape silence.

Robert watched in horror at the little blue box appeared right in the middle of his most important, most dramatic, most artistically _perfect _scene, torn between the desire to scream and to laugh maniacally. Not realizing what was happening inside the living room set, the soldiers burst in and took their shots without so much as a glance at what was actually before them. The thing, whatever it was, was right between them and their target, though, and the little puff of theatrical smoke that was _supposed _to rise up off the target whisped harmlessly off the wooden thing.

There was absolute silence in the auditorium. The audience stared open-mouthed, completely astonished by what they'd just seen and totally unaware that those on the other side of the stage were just as surprised as they were.

And then, as if the whole thing couldn't get any stranger, one of the doors opened, and a blonde girl came out of the box. "I mean, isn't that what you're known for anyway?" she asked, head still pointed into the box. She turned around and saw the soldiers, with their guns pointed at her, and took a step back, gasping.

"No! 'course not!" a man said, coming out behind her. "When's the last time I ever ruined someone's... moment..." he said, trailing off as he, too, noticed the guns. "Ah. Guns. Good. Been eons since I had guns pointed at me. Well, I say eons. Ages, maybe. Well, I mean, actually it was last week. Still, think you could put those down? I don't mind, of course, only my friend here has been under a lot of stress lately and, well, who knows how long until she snaps, really? Certainly not me. "

The soldiers stared, completely caught off guard, and Robert was sure it was the actor, not the character he was portraying, who stammered out, "Who... are you?"

"Us? Oh, don't mind us," he said. And then he said the worst thing he possibly could say. "We're just a couple of travelers, Quinn and I. I'm the Doctor, by the way..." There was a collective gasp from the audience. The girl was petrified, and she didn't take her eyes off the men pointing guns right at her chest, but the man risked a look in the direction of the sound. He squinted into the bright lights pointed at the stage but a moment later his eyes seemed to adjust, and he realized he was looking at a sea of faces all staring up at them. "Oh," he said.

There was another moment of silence, then the King himself stood and started a slow ovation - unheard of behavior for the monarch. But of course the rest followed suit, and soon the entire auditorium consisted of people standing up in the aisles, the seats, anywhere they could find, clapping as profusely as possible for the astounding entrance.

If Robert had been in a position to enjoy this at all, he would have been over the moon with joy and excitement at this kind of reaction. But all he had was a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that something dreadfully wrong was about to happen.

"Curtain," he hissed to the stage hand next to him.

"What?" the man replied distractedly.

"I said _curtain_!" Robert hissed out. "Start the intermission!"


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N! Happy Memorial Day all! It's a holiday, and you know what that usually means... extra chapter!**

* * *

The Doctor was perched on a counter in the cast lounge, watching the director pace back and forth, pulling his hair and shaking his head dramatically. The Doctor calmly munched on an apple he'd nabbed from a nearby fruit bowl. The actors all sat around a long table staring at each other glumly.

Quinn stood off to the side, arms folded in front of her chest. _See the wonders of the universe_, she thought. Yeah right. _I can't believe I'm back in a theater with a bunch of divas.__ Again. _She watched the director continue to pace back and forth, still muttering to himself. Nobody had said a word for three or four minutes now. She reached out and nudged the Doctor on his knee. When he looked at her, confused, she inclined her head towards the actors and director. He shrugged his shoulders at her so she rolled her eyes and mouthed the words, 'say something!'

"Aha. Right." He said quietly, so quietly that she could barely hear. Then he cleared his throat and, much louder, said, "Excuse me?" The others turned towards him, shooting him glares ranging from resignation to barely contained rage. "Ooh," he said taking in the reaction. The director had stopped pacing, thankfully enough, though he was now making a sort of whimpering sound in the back of his throat. "Um, hello. I'm the Doctor and this is Quinn. I just thought I'd say that we didn't mean to land in the middle of things back there. I mean, well, we meant to land, of course, it's just we didn't know what you'd be doing out there. It's funny when you think about it because actually my ship's supposed to do its best not to cause a stir and, well, patron of the arts that I am..."

"What my friend here is trying to say," Quinn said, "is that we're really sorry we screwed up your play."

"Hah!" Robert said, throwing his hands up in the air exasperatedly and looking around madly at the cast. "Did you hear that? They're _sorry_. Well that makes it okay, then, doesn't it gang?"

"Can't you just start it over again?" the Doctor asked. "Give people their money back?"

"Oh, yes, let's do _that_," the director said, slumping down into a seat and putting his forehead down on the table. "You've ruined us, you realize that? You _ruined_ us."

"It can't be as bad as all that," the Doctor said. "After all, your troupe's doing quite well, what with the new theater and all. Who builds a brand new theater if they're not doing well?"

"We do," Clegg growled, eyes narrowed at the newcomers.

"It was an accident," Quinn said. "We're sorry."

"Sorry. Sure. You're sorry," he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

She felt her temper start to flare, just slightly. Didn't these people know better than to mess with an especially hormonal teenager? They were rapidly losing the moral high ground, she thought. "Look, we didn't mean to do anything, okay? It happened, it was an accident, we said we're sorry. But when it comes down to it, it's just a play."

"Shut up," Josh growled.

"Excuse me?"

"Just.. stop talking."

"It's a play! It's entertainment! It's not a matter of life or death, and-"

"I said, Shut up. Shut the _hell up_ about things you don't understand! You don't have any idea what you're talking about, you good for nothing _moron_!" Josh said, slamming his fist on the table.

The Doctor's expression turned dark. "I'll thank you not to talk to my friend that way," he said in a tone the assembled crowd might consider emotionless, but which Quinn knew from experience meant that the man who had spoken was treading dangerous water. She put a hand on the Doctor's shoulder to, hopefully, calm him down a bit.

Callie hadn't said a word this whole time. Now she reached out and entwined a hand in Robert's. She seemed like she was on the verge of tears. "What are we going to do?" she whispered to the director.

"I don't know. I'll think of something. Just give me a minute."

"Do you think... do you think the Travelers could help? If we got word to them, I mean?"

"You know what they think of what we're doing," Robert replied, and Callie nodded in sad resignation.

The Doctor didn't seem to notice the fear in her eyes, but Quinn did. His patience with the situation had clearly gone out the window when Josh insulted her, but Quinn was picking up on something... something more than the cast and crew were saying.

She had been in the 'green room' before, under worse circumstances than this. During sectionals, the glee club had been sure they were about to crash and burn when all their songs were stolen right out from under them. But even so, with a huge opportunity on the line and everything to play for, they hadn't been like this - not even Rachel, and that was saying something. This was beyond the fear of a botched play, a bad review, or a missed opportunity. It was more even than facing the reality of not having a lifelong dream come true.

The other actors had started whispering amongst themselves about what they could do, how they could still pull off a successful evening. Mostly, though, it was a lot of ideas being tossed out and immediately rejected as being untenable. Josh occasionally looked up at the Doctor sourly. Every time, he found the Time Lord glaring at him, seeming like he hadn't moved and had scarcely blinked the whole time.

This wasn't problem solving at its best. It wasn't even close. These people looked like they'd had their will to live sapped from them, like they were trudging onward only as a last resort because they didn't dare sit there and do nothing.

"How long have we got now?" Howard asked the director.

Robert glanced at his watch and sighed. "About twenty-one minutes now," he replied. "Intermission's almost over and they'll be expecting act 2."

"We can just go on from here, though," Howard said.

"With you still alive? How? The whole second act is predicated on your character being dead."

"Yeah..." Howard said dejectedly. "I guess so."

"What's going on?" She asked, as kindly as she could, trying to stifle her irritation. Everyone stared at her, but none said anything. Sensing that she wasn't getting anywhere with the group as a whole, she locked eyes with Callie. "What are you so afraid of?" she asked.

The Doctor perked up, seeming to snap out of his staring contest with Josh at the mention of someone being in trouble. Now he focused on Callie as well, still wearing a stoic expression, but at least interested and engaged.

Callie shed a single tear as she took a deep, ragged breath, trying to contain herself. "The play's ruined," she said.

"Why's it so important?" the Doctor asked quietly.

"Because if the play doesn't go well, then the people we love most in the whole world will almost certainly die."


	5. Chapter 5

"Die? People _die_ for the quality of a play here?" the Doctor asked. "Blimey, I'd hate to see the Metacritic scores."

"It's no joke, Doctor," Howard said. "It's not dramatics or hyperbole, it's just the truth."

"Why? How does that even work?"

Robert wasn't looking at anyone in the cast or crew. He just stared at his hands folded on the table before him. But at that question, he spoke up. "It's me. It's my fault."

"How so?"

"The King wanted to commission a play," Robert said. "I refused. I never should have refused."

"What are you all talking about?" Quinn asked. "I'm lost."

"Don't you read the papers at all?" Callie asked.

"We're not local," the Doctor said.

"You're from the north?"

He shook his head and said, "_Very_ not local." He glanced around the room and discovered a bound packet of papers on the counter near him and picked it up. "_The Traveler's Folly_," he read from the front cover. "Sounds interesting enough," and he started paging through it at an incredible rate.

"Well I still don't get it," Quinn said. "If the King doesn't like the play he kills people?"

"If he doesn't like _this_ play, he does." Callie said. "He insists that it be perfect."

"It would have to be, with so much Traveler rhetoric in it."

"Okay, I keep hearing that," Quinn said. "Traveler this, traveler that. What is it?"

Howard looked at her in shock. "You really aren't from around here, are you?"

"We showed up in a big box that appeared out of nowhere. Do you really have to ask?"

"The Travelers are a political party opposed to the King's regime," Howard said around a mild snort of derision - Quinn wasn't sure if it was directed at either of the political parties or to her lack of knowledge. "The King won't let anyone outside the bounds of the nation. The Travelers feel that's wrong - that we should be branching out and using as much of creation as we can, but the King insists on keeping a smaller group of people within arm's reach of the long hand of the law."

"So you mean that of the whole planet, nobody's ever been abroad? Nobody's ever seen any more of what's out there?"

"A few people have escaped but not many."

"What a waste," Quinn said, thinking of all the beautiful things she'd seen just on Earth, before she ever met the Doctor, and imagining all those things with nobody even so much as setting eyes on them ever... it was incredibly sad. She looked at the Doctor to confirm he felt the same way - surely a man who traveled as much as he did would see the tragedy in it - but he seemed to be engrossed in the script. He'd made a lot of progress, too - he was nearly halfway done already. "So what does politics have to do with the play?" Quinn asked.

"It's propaganda," the Doctor said, abruptly flipping the script right to the last page and then tossing it aside, disgustedly. "So that's the state of the arts around here? No washing the dust of daily life off our souls or laying bare the questions which have been hidden by the answers?" he asked incredulously. "What's the point of something like this?" he asked, picking the script back up and shaking it at them. "This is nothing but the endless machinations of the government dogma mill."

"I did what I had to do," Robert said.

"What, help the Crown keep people in line? Doing your part to make sure the masses behave, are you?"

"No! That's not it!"

"The message couldn't be clearer. Stand up against injustice and it'll get you killed."

"That's not what I want, not by a long shot."

"The second act is basically a bloodbath! I hardly need to read it all. There's a murder every page."

"Just stop it!"

"Why would you voluntarily be a part of this?"

"Because they have my son!" Robert yelled, swiping a cup off the table angrily and letting it crash into the wall. "They have my son," he repeated quietly. "He's nine years old and I don't know where he is, and if tonight's play doesn't meet the King's approval then they die, painfully. So yes, I wrote the play, exactly how the king wanted it, because I want freedom for the people of this country... but I want my son more."

He leaned back in his chair and covered his face with his hands. "That goes for all of us," Callie said. "He has my husband, Josh's wife. Howard's parents are elderly but he's even taken them. Lana's father is a political prisoner, and the King promises he'll be released if he's pleased with tonight's performance. The list goes on and on. The King calls it a 'performance incentive.' If we don't do what he wants he'll have them executed."

Quinn's mouth fell open. "That's awful!" She looked back to the Doctor but he wasn't saying anything, just staring at the table the actors sat around, avoiding eye contact. "I'm... sorry," she said. If he wasn't going to say it, someone had to.

"He's kidnapped your families to use as bargaining chips against you..." the Doctor said, almost as if he were talking to himself. Then, suddenly, his head snapped up; he was back at full attention, in action mode. "Right," he said, and Quinn could feel his injustice-sense tingling. "Where is this King of yours? Balcony level, I presume, private box? I think it's time he and I had a word."

If he might have guessed how they would react to his statement - a glimmer of hope, maybe, or awed reverence - it wouldn't have been outright hostility, but that was exactly the look Josh and Clegg were shooting him. "Get some rope," Josh said. "We'll tie him up. The girl too." Clegg nodded and off he went, looking for rope.

"What?" the Doctor deadpanned.

"If anyone so much as steps a _toe _out of line, our families die. You're not 'having a word' with anyone, mate."

"Now, now, wait a minute. Just... wait," the Doctor said. "Let's discuss this."

"There's nothing to discuss," Josh said, but Howard and Callie started yelling at him.

"Stop being stupid," Callie said. "You can't tie them up!"

"You just watch me," Josh told her, taking the rope that Clegg had returned with.

"No, you really can't," Howard said.

"You two are only married in the play," Josh said. "You don't have to pretend you respect the bit-"

"I don't need anyone to protect me," Callie said. "But we need them." She turned to the Doctor and Quinn. "You're going to have to go back out there with us."

"Go back?" Quinn asked. "Why?"

"Because you're part of the play now," she said.

"No, way, Cal," Josh said. "No way these two are going out there, not with everything riding on this one performance."

"It's not just about the performance, though," she said. "The whole night has to go off without a hitch, and you know as well as I do that Robert's trademark is his characters. Nobody comes on stage unless they're important. There's no such thing as a bit part in one of his plays." She looked back at the playwright. "You have to write them into the play, Robert."

There was a loud, exasperated grumbling of displeasure, and it wasn't all from the actors. Quinn could get up in front of people and sing, sure. She could perform cheerleading routines with precision in front of packed audiences. But acting? Actual _acting_? She wasn't sure she could do that. "What do you mean, 'write us into the play'?!" she asked. "There's no need for that!"

"Oh, I dunno," the Doctor said, and she spun around and shot him a wide-eyed glare, the kind that was meant to say, 'I do NOT want to do this', but apparently it fell on deaf ears - or at least blind eyes. "It might be a good idea, y'know? Might even be fun," he said, and grinned, winking at her.

"But... but Robert, this is crazy!" Clegg said.

"Is it?" Robert asked, voice void of emotion. "The King wanted his message put into a production everyone would be talking about for years, and we're well on the way to getting there," he said. "We just pulled off the biggest special effect the world has ever seen - so _what _if it it wasn't scripted - and now we've got his, the King's, approval. We can run with that. But only if they'll help us."

"I'd love to," the Doctor said. "Anything to help, that's me. Ask anyone. And Quinn."

"Thank so much for volunteering me," she said flatly.

"We can salvage most of the content," Robert continued. "It'll just be a few scenes. I trust you all. You know your characters. You can ad-lib this. Assemble the rest of the cast backstage; this isn't going to be easy by a longshot but I think we can just pull it off." Nobody moved from their seats, so he stood and clapped his hands together. "Come on! Move! Move!"

Reluctantly the rest of the cast filed out of the lounge. Josh remained behind, glaring at the director. "You mark my words," he said. "This isn't going to work like you've planned."

"Yes it will," he said. And then, as Josh left and there were only the Doctor and Qunn left to hear, he whispered hoarsely, "It's just got to." He turned to face the two strangers once again. "Can you really help?"

"Yes, I can," the Doctor said, and Robert gave him a curt nod and went to join the rest of the group.

The Doctor was about to follow when Quinn grabbed him by the arm. "Can I have a word?" she said, and closed the door to the lounge before he could answer. "Acting? You want us to act?"

"Sure! What's the problem? It's easy. Besides, thought you loved being on stage."

"The _problem_? What's the _problem_? The _problem_ is that we don't even know any of the lines!"

"I know! Great, isn't it?"

"How's it 'great'? I think the word you want is 'terrifying'!"

"They're the ones who have to ad-lib something. You, just be your normal inquisitive self. Interrogating characters should be the same as interrogating real people," he said. "Well, actually, easier."

"I'm not following."

"What's the hardest part? Whenever we go somewhere, whatever we're doing, what's the biggest challenge?" he asked.

"The running."

"Alright, that's a fair point," he said. "But it's getting to the bottom of things that's tough. Unraveling the lies and the deceit and the twists, that's hard. But if the play takes place here and now, so that the characters can be government mouthpieces, then the play has to reflect reality. They won't lie, and if they do, the audience's reaction will give it away. Finest polygraph in the universe."

She couldn't help but stare at him, a scowl crossing her features as she listened to him drone on about actors and plays and lies. "You're not thinking straight," she said. "You've been off since this morning when I found you in the study. What's going on?"

"Nothing. I'm fine, really."

"You were startled when I found you this morning. Not like I-didn't-hear-you startled... like the kind of startled Finn always got when I caught him staring at Rachel. Like I stumbled across something I wasn't supposed to see."

"I was just..."

"And then here. One minute you're practically screaming at these people, the next all you want to do is help?"

"I was wrong, I just..."

"So you can see why I'm not sure this is the best idea you've ever had."

He stood up and started pacing around the room, avoiding eye contact. She didn't move, herself, standing with her back to the door and her arms folded, staring at him as he silently inspected the cabinetry in unnecessary detail. "I've been... preoccupied," he said. "Thinking about stuff."

"What kind of stuff?"

"Nothing, just... stuff. Stuff and things. Things and stuff. You know."

"No, I don't know. I never know _anything_ because _you_ won't ever tell me."

"I wasnt paying attention. I misjudged these people," he said, ignoring . "But it was a mistake. There are people in danger, and it's partially because of me. I have to help them. If you want to help too, I'll be out there." And he opened the door and went out to join the cast.

She rolled her eyes and sighed. "Wait!" she called, standing up to follow him, and he turned back around in the doorway. "What's this play even about, anyway?"

He smiled at her. "Now you're talking. C'mon, I'll introduce you."


	6. Chapter 6

The Doctor and Quinn strode out of the actors' lounge to find most of the cast assembled in the living room set. Most were staring at the TARDIS where it sat parked just behind the settee, probably trying to understand how this thing had come to be there when it hadn't been there moments before. Only a couple had been on stage at the time; everyone else had merely heard about this thing that had appeared and threatened to ruin everything.

"Quinn Fabray," the Doctor said, "allow me to introduce you to the resistance. 'Kate and Frank Milligan', played by Callie and Howard, have been stealing royal secrets to advance the agenda of the Travelers, a group who want to break free of the oppression of their government and spread out to see the sights... a laudable goal all in all, though I'm not sure I like the execution very much.

"And this must be their best friend and partner in crime, Ms. Gertrude Ferrison."

An older woman, who looked like she was in her mid-to-late forties, stood up and shook Quinn's hand. "My friends - my offstage friends, of course - call me Lana," she said.

"The rest of the resistance are over there," the Doctor said, pointing out a group of method actors who seemed to be examining the Police Box, chattering excitedly and writing notes as if they had any idea what the thing was or how incredibly it really was once you got inside. "Owen Coates, played by renowned character actor Raymond Derrick, leads the underground resistance. _Literally _underground; the entrance is in the Milligans' closet. Joey Bishop, Patsy McDonough, and Garrett Denzil round out the technical team." He turned to a single man in a crisp soldier's uniform. "And then we have our soldiers. Or in this case, soldier," he said. "Robert? Where are the other soldiers, then?"

Robert shook his head. "I didn't assign the parts randomly," he said, with barely concealed contempt. "There are members of both political parties on the cast. The 'soldiers' refused to participate in the meeting. All except Keith there."

"We'll manage without them," the Doctor said, waving it off as if it weren't an issue when everyone seemed to think that clearly it was. "The soldier's part is easy. You just say, 'halt' and 'stop or I'll shoot' and let your gun do the talking, and that pretty much sums up the part."

"_Doctor_..." Quinn said, arching her eyebrows and nodding towards the lone actor in soldier's garb, standing apart and looking at the proceedings from afar. Let the Doctor feel about soldiers as he liked, but she was pretty sure having your part marginalized down to nothing couldn't feel good for the actor playing the part. She knew _she _hadn't liked it when someone referred to her as nothing more than a swaying background singer in glee club, anyway.

"Keith and Adam Marks, brothers, are playing Marv and Brock Stanton, also brothers," the Doctor said. "Brilliant!"

Quinn smiled at a young man not much older than she was - probably in his mid twenties if she were to take a guess. He chuckled nervously as he replied, "The, uh, casting call went out for identical twins, so, er, here I am," Keith said, giving a little wave. "My brother's with the rest of the Anchors," he said. "I'll report to them when I'm, ah, done here." He smiled nervously.

"So far, Mr. Milligan has worked with the resistance team to steal top secret documents from the King's offices," the Doctor told her. "The whole first act is a proper spy thriller, with clandestine meetings in cafes, code words, gunfights and bar brawls, the works. At the end of the first act, the soldiers get wind of Frank's involvement in the proceedings and show up to execute him - court order. Then the second act is a huge tonal shift. Every single one of the resistance team are found out, hunted down, and killed. It turns out that Kate Milligan's been pulling the strings after all, not her husband, but she's shot dead trying to escape to a Traveler's safehouse, and the play ends."

"Not exactly an inspiring night at the theater," Quinn said.

"No, it's not meant to be. Robert's this planet's equivalent of Tennessee Williams back in his heyday - _ooh_, I should take you to see _The Glass Menagerie_. Laurette Taylor, 1944... it'll be a challenge to find a night I'm not already in the audience, that's for sure. Anyway, Robert Delerno; he's basically a legend," the Doctor said. "The man's known for his stories that really reach the common man. That's probably why the King approached him to be his own personal propaganda machine... and why he refused to do it until people he loved were in danger."

"You admire him a little bit, don't you?"

The Doctor grinned. "Am I that obvious?"

"Yeah," she said, smiling back.

"Alright, I do, yeah," he said. "I admire people who stand up for what they believe in unapologetically, who adhere to their own moral code... especially when it matches mine."

"Until you threaten their family."

"Yeah..." That was an all-too-familiar caveat, the Doctor thought. How many of his enemies knew that all they had to do was threaten his friends to bend him to their will?

"So, Frank Milligan is supposed to be dead," Quinn said. "Only he's not because we parked a spaceship in between him and his would-be assassin."

"Pretty much, yeah."

"So now what happens?"

"The same thing that happens whenever we go anywhere," he said. "We rewrite history. Except this time we have the writer on our side."

Robert had gathered the cast and crew around a long table backstage. Several copies of the script were strewn about with different sections underlined, highlighted, and scribbled in. A top-down view of all the sets was drawn to scale to help with the blocking, a smattering of props lay here and there around the workspace. "Okay," the director said. "I trust you all to do the best you can. You know your characters, a couple of you have improv experience. The rest of you, just try to stay in character as much as you can. We're going to keep the same scene order as much as possible, and I'll be back here doing rewrites the whole night. If you're not on stage, you're back here checking in with me, alright?" A series of nods were the only acknowledgement; everyone else was too nervous to speak.

"Doctor," the director continued, "how about you? You think you can improvise something?"

"It's basically all he does," Quinn said before the Time Lord could reply. "Trust me. He's going to be fine."

"What do we call your characters?" Howard asked.

"Oh, probably best if we just stick with the Doctor and Quinn," he replied. "Trust me. The intrigue makes for a better story."

"And he already introduced us," Quinn said.

"Fine, fine," Robert said. "Keith, I'll be counting on you to relay the changes to the other soldiers. Think you can handle it?"

"You bet," Keith said.

"Alright. First scene, then; we've got to deal with the interruption from the end of the last act. Howard, how do you feel about getting arrested?"

"It takes me out of the story just like it's supposed to," Howard replied. "Let's do it. Don't be afraid to rough me up a little, kid," he said, winking at Keith. The younger man smiled weakly.

"Perfect," Robert said. "Doctor, Quinn, just let the soldiers do their work and, uh... well, no, wait a second. Why wouldn't they arrest you, too?" He turned his back to the table and crossed his arms, clicking his tongue as he thought. "You'd have to have some reason to be exempt from processing..."

"Riiiiiiiight," the Doctor said, stretching the word as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a brown leather wallet. "Would this do?"

Robert looked at the paper, then up to the Doctor's face. "How did you get a hold of one of those?" he asked, his face a slack-jawed expression of disbelief.

"What is it?" Callie asked, standing on tiptoes to try to get a peek over Robert's shoulder, but the Doctor had snatched it back up and stuffed it in his pocket.

"Best not to talk too much about it, right, director?" the Doctor said, giving the director a knowing look. "Don't want to spoil the surprise."

"Yes, uh, right," Robert said, shaking his head to clear it and refocusing on the moment. "Show that to the soldiers and I'm sure they'll leave you alone," he said, "but don't let the audience see it. It's... _better _that way."

"I wouldn't dream of it," the Doctor replied.

The lights backstage dimmed for a few seconds, then came back on. The intermission was almost over.

"Alright, people, places," Robert said. "Resume your positions from the end of the last act." He was practically shoving the actors back towards the stage. Quinn turned to face the Doctor as they stood back outside the TARDIS.

"This is crazy!" she hissed under her breath. "We can't do this."

"Oh yes we can!" he replied in an excited whisper. "Now you heard what the director said, about keeping the play on track."

"I haven't read the script! I'm not a crazy speed reader like you!"

"Doesn't matter," he said, shaking his head.

"Doesn't matter? I don't even know what 'on track' is! How am I supposed to keep to it?"

"You're not," he said, fixing her with his best penetrating gaze. "We're going to help these people. We're doing what we do every day. Stop the killing."

"What?! But the actors said-"

"No time," he replied, grabbing her by the shoulders and spinning her back around to the position she'd been in before the prior act ended. Quinn took a deep breath to steady her nerves, and watched out of the corner of her eye as the curtain flew open again.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: There's no real set time for my posts. I usually try to do them at some point over the weekend but this one was especially busy. Still, it' the very early hours of Monday morning and I haven't gone to bed yet so, technically, it's still the weekend (or at least I say it is, so there).**

**It occurred to me as I re-read this prior to posting, that each character basically has two names - their real name and the name of the character they're playing in the show. Is it easy enough to follow those jumps? I don't know how to alleviate that entirely, but if nothing else I could publish the playbill at the end of a chapter or something.**

**Thanks to all the readers who favorited the story. I love to know more people are out there getting enjoyment out of the series. I'd love to hear what you think!**

* * *

Before anyone had a chance to do or say anything, the audience began to applaud once again, clearly drawn in and eager to see where this story was heading. Quinn wondered how they would react if they knew the actors were wondering exactly the same thing. She knew everyone would be doing their best to stick to the lines they had been given, with the exception that their attempted execution was now going to be an arrest, but she was concerned about the Doctor. He had a tendency to be off-putting. Normally, that worked to their advantage, but not so much when you were trying to put on a good show for an audience. Dumbfounded, speechless actors weren't a good idea, and she hoped the Doctor would realize that.

The applause died down and the lead soldier pointed his gun right at the Doctor. Quinn flinched; the reaction was completely involuntary whether she knew the gun was a fake or not. It certainly looked deadly enough, and she'd never had a gun pointed at her before in her life. Mind sucking parasite plants and orbital bombings had all seemed like intangible threats, somehow, compared to the undeniable reality of someone preparing to shoot you, even if it was all for show. At least she didn't have to work at _acting_ like she was afraid.

The tension was getting stronger on stage as Quinn wondered who was going to speak first. Fortunately the leader of the two soldiers beat her to it.

"We're here for Frank Milligan, enemy of this sovereign nation. Step aside," he said, "or I'll charge you with harboring a known fugitive."

"Now, there's no need for that," the Doctor said. "Just put the weapons down and I'm sure Frank will go peacefully enough, won't you Frank?"

Frank stepped out from behind the Police Box, arms raised, and knelt down beside the sofa. The second soldier approached him and slapped a pair of handcuffs on him, pulling him to his feet and shoving him out the door, just a little too enthusiastically to be purely acting. "Frank!" his wife called in despair, and she ran out the door after him, leaving the Doctor and Quinn alone with the soldiers.

The first soldier holstered his gun and approached the wooden box, reaching out a black-gloved hand to stroke the side of the blue wood panel. "Now, this is a beautiful piece of equipment," he said, smiling a malevolent smile. "Painstakingly crafted, a real artisanal piece, and yet... also something more than it appears to be, hm?" He raised his eyebrows as if to make it clear that it was a statement, not a question. The Doctor was glaring at him, and Quinn remembered what Robert had said, that he'd cast the roles according to the actors political stance wherever he could. That meant some of the menace creeping into the man's voice wasn't fiction at all. The guns and the setting might be playthings, but the danger was very representative of something real. He spoke in a deep, smooth, almost sultry voice, friendly on the surface but still inescapably cruel. "I know people who would love to get a peek."

"Never in a billion years," the Doctor said, "and I'm in a unique position to see that promise through."

"I see," he said, sounding pleased rather than disappointed. Quinn supposed he was the kind of person who enjoyed a chance to get forceful with people. "I imagine you know who I am, and what I am liable to do if I do not get my way."

The Doctor scratched his ear, looked up at the stage lights as if he were staring far away into space and scrunched up his face, as if he were really wracking his brain, then after a moment said, "Nope. No, I'm afraid not."

"Really? I would have though my reputation would precede me. I am captain Telbrook Saunders, primary adjutant to his Majesty the King. But then again, I would think the reputation of a man in possession of such a traveling machine... well, I suppose such a man's reputation would precede _him _as well. Yet I'm afraid you have me at quite the disadvantage."

"How 'bout that?" the Doctor said. "Never heard of you."

"A shame," Saunders replied, still stroking the TARDIS. "And quite possibly a dangerous one."

"Yes," the Doctor agreed. "You never know just how much trouble you might be in if you cross the wrong person. I'm the Doctor, by the way. I'd shake your hand, but..." He inclined his head up towards his hands, still held above his head, earning a light chuckle from the audience.

"Please, of course, feel free," he said, and the Doctor and Quinn lowered their arms. She shook her hands and clenched and unclenched her fists a few times to get the blood flowing again. "After all, we all know who is in charge here, yes?"

"I've a fair idea," the Doctor replied.

"Indeed," Saunders said, pursing his lips. "But now I'm afraid you have me at quite the disadvantage."

"Of course, where are my manners? I'm the Doctor and this is Quinn," he said, flashing a grin that disappeared a second later. "Well, that's the pleasantries dispatched with. Sorry you can't stay."

Saunders holstered his weapon on his belt and smiled. "Regrettably, yes, I must be going," he said. "But who is to say you will not be going with me, hm? I've already arrested Frank Milligan for his allegiance to this dissenting organization. You've made your allegiance perfectly plain as well. Perhaps I should take you in. You certainly seem to have some influence."

"Influence? I think you'll find few of them have even heard of me. I think this will clear the issue up," the Doctor said, passing over the psychic paper.

The actor took the wallet with a smug expression, but as he read over the document his eyes widened, and for just a moment he looked up at the Doctor with a bewildered, awestruck expression.

Watching from the wings, Robert couldn't suppress his smile. Avery Krelle was nothing like the Saunders character - obviously a parody of the very real, very much dreaded Telbok Sanders, the King's right hand man who'd been in the headlines often as of late. But Avery was a sad coward of a man. Put him in front of an audience and give him a chance to act like a tough guy with no possibility of consequences, and he could be downright chilling. But looking at that paper of the Doctor's, now the real fear was shining through despite the actor's best efforts.

To his credit as an actor, he wiped off his surprise quickly. "Very well, Doctor. You've won for now. But change is coming. Prepare yourself." He turned to leave.

"No." the Doctor said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said 'no'. I'm not going to prepare myself. You prepare _your_self."

"I'm afraid I don't understand," Saunders said.

"You're a tyrant," the Doctor replied. "You and your entire regime, trying to take away a basic right. Who are you to tell people they can't branch out? Who are you to tell people they can't strive for whatever they can reach?"

"Traveler rhetoric," Saunders said, waving his hand dismissively. "Traveler rhetoric, from the mouth of yet another member of the Traveler herd. What you say is just static, nothing more."

"Oh, no it's not," the Doctor said. "Because you're right. I am a traveler. Me and my friends. I've been traveling since I left my home and I've never looked back since, and you want to deny that to these people," he said, waving a hand at the audience. Quinn cleared her throat and he cast her a quick sidelong glance. Catching her meaning, he swept his other arm out and did a full 360 degree turn, to indicate his passionate argument encompassed everyone beyond the unseen fourth wall of the living room. "People who never travel, never broaden their horizons, those are people who never _change_." Quinn couldn't suppress a smile at his sheer passion, as he turned his gaze skyward and shouted. "They never learn, never explore, never see what's out there! And there is _so much_ out there! So, _so _much!" He had stopped pacing the room now, but he wasn't looking at the man playing Saunders when he finished his speech. He was peering out into the audience, and Quinn wasn't sure how he could see anything through the aura the stage lights created, but somehow she was sure he was staring directly into an ornate box somewhere out in the seats, maybe a balcony, where the monarch was seated. "I'm not who you think I am, not by a long shot. Some people say I'm a hero. Some people say I'm a villain. For people like you I am much, much worse."

"Oh, no," Robert said, covering his face in his hands. This was getting out of control. An uncomfortable tense silence had fallen over the whole auditorium now.

"I am declaring freedom," he said. "You can join me if you want. You can give me what I'm after. But if not, I won't be responsible for what happens to you."

Robert didn't bother to call for a stagehand this time. He threw the lever to close the curtain himself, and ran out onto the set. "Change the set dressing to the bedroom," he called out to the crew, but he didn't stop advancing on the Doctor. He raised both palms and slammed the Time Lord back against the TARDIS. "What are you _doing_?" he yelled. "Do you think you can just waltz in here, ruin my play, and threaten the _King himself_ and everyone else is just going to stand by and let you do it? And don't think for a second there's anyone who doesn't know that's what you were doing. I wouldn't be surprised if we got a visit from the _real _Sanders before the night is up."

The Doctor was calm, even as Robert tried to lift him up by his lapels. "Look at you," he said. "Really look. Look at what he's done to you, through fear and manipulation. He doesn't need to police you to keep you in line. You're all doing it to one another for him."

"Yes! Yes we are!" Robert said. "You figured it out. We're doing a play about our side losing. Thats the point. We start to rebel, the King's people intimidate the rest to silence and kill anyone who won't shut up about it. That's how this goes, that's what we're doing, because we don't want our families to die, and because we want this to stay fiction. It's sad when the arts are full of a message of hopelessness and defeat but it'll be an absolute _tragedy _when it's the real thing." He sighed. "I have to go try to keep this thing on track. You," he said, jabbing an index finger into the Doctor's chest, "start thinking of a way to get killed."

"You mean get his character killed?" Quinn asked.

"Right now, I wouldn't be bother either way," Robert said, and strode off to yell at the crew rolling the bed and night table into place.

"Well, that's never gonna happen," the Doctor muttered, and Quinn turned to face him, arms folded. "Oh, what, I suppose you're unhappy with me as well now?"

"As a matter of fact, yeah," she said. "What was all that about?"

"What do you mean, 'What's that about'? Same thing it's always about."

"You're doing it again! You're swooping in and... changing stuff."

"That's what I do! I thought that was what you liked about me."

"Yes, but these people didn't ask you for this! They _asked _you to do exactly the opposite. I thought doctors couldn't help if the patient wanted to avoid treatment."

He looked almost astonished, like he couldn't believe she wasn't 100% on his side from the start on this one. "I'm trying to help people!" he said.

"By changing a stupid play? If you want to get out of here and go rescue the people who are being held captive or something, let's go. But this isn't real. It's fake. It's just a story."

"Oh, but a story is so much more than that. Stories are important, Quinn. Stories give us hope and something to look forward to. They teach us so much about love and loss and living life. A story isn't just a way to pass a couple of hours away on a Sunday afternoon. The best ones get right inside us, and the _very _best of _those_... they can change us forever." He held her arms to her sides and looked into her eyes. "If the government were as strong as they say they are in this play, then this play wouldn't be happening. The Travelers' leaders would be arrested, the rest would be persecuted or driven to an underground of some kind. They're not letting on, but they're afraid," he said. "They're trying to crush the faith of these people in the one thing they believe in, and we're _not _going to stand by and watch it happen."

"Well said," a voice from offstage said, and they both turned to look at the speaker. "Hello. I'm Telbok Sanders," said a man in a black suit. "I think you've met my rather unflattering counterpart. Might I have a word?"

"Ooh, I don't know," the Doctor said. "They might need us for this next scene here."

Telbok smiled. "I wasn't really asking," he said. "Please, this way. We'll use the actors' lounge."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Apologies for the late chapter. I was going to post it last night when a storm knocked out our internet and cable service. Boooooooooooooo!**

**I'm trying something different with our friend Q here... I feel like I've written her as this meek, quiet little character a lot of the time, when in reality this is the person who blackmailed SUE SYLVESTER. So in little bits and pieces I think I'll be letting some of her fieriness out. Good thing? Bad thing? Let me know :).**

* * *

"It's very interesting," the man said as he closed the door behind them. "I ran a search for you. A strange man who appears from thin air and calls himself..." he made a gesture as if he were inviting the Time Lord to continue.

"The Doctor," he replied. "Just the Doctor."

"The Doctor, yes. I'm afraid I've never heard of you." Quinn sighed. This conversation was basically an instant replay of the one they'd just had. Were they going to have to do _everything _twice today? "It's odd, really, because we've been cataloguing the more... _vocal _elements of that particular political bent, and you've never come up." He sat down in one of the chairs and put his feet up on the table. "But you don't really strike me as the sort who wouldn't be in the lead."

"I tend to inspire a following, I suppose," he agreed, scratching his ear with some degree of modesty that Quinn couldn't decide if she believed in or not. "So. To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked, sitting down at the opposite end of the table and leaning forward. Quinn sat down in one of the chairs as well, just glad to get off her feet. She toyed with the idea of slipping her shoes off but wasn't sure she'd get them back on if she did, and ultimately decided against it.

Telbok leaned forward as well. "Well, that all depends. I'm a little worried about your last few lines before the end of that last scene," he said. "Was it scripted? Because if not, one might easily assume you intended treasonous talk against his majesty the King."

"I meant what I said," the Doctor replied, looking at Sanders with the same steely glare from the stage.

"Now, I don't think there's any need for that," Sanders said. "The threatening tone and the hard look and all that. My unflattering depiction in this play might be smug and menacing, but that notwithstanding, I assure you I'm quite a nice guy when you get to know me."

The thing was, he _did _seem nice enough as far as Quinn was concerned. He wasn't threatening them, at least, and he seemed almost friendly. Then again, wasn't that how the best politicians worked anyway?

"The fact of the matter is," Sanders continued, "despite what you may or may not have been told, there are very real and valid reasons why the monarchy sides with the Anchor philosophy rather than the Travelers, and it's nothing to do with a desire to see people downtrodden or uneducated, if that's what you think. We're doing what we feel is best for the safety of the population as a whole, not just the few with lofty dreams."

"So this is how you accomplish it? There's a lot riding on this performance, isn't there? This looks like a last ditch effort to me. Hire a well known playwright, force him to write this play that tells people in no uncertain terms that if they defy the government, they'll be killed, and build him a brand new theater to show it in? You're desperate to keep the population in line, but _why_? What does it bother you if they want to see the world?"

"I'm not at liberty to say, but trust me, it's for the best."

"So that's it, is it? You do what you must for the good of us all? That's always how it starts. Never mind the security screenings, it's for your own good. Just carry your papers and you won't have a problem. Never mind the government housing, it's for your own good. Just don't complain and you'll be fine. Never mind the overflowing prison camps, they're for your own good. Just don't speak out against what's wrong with society and you'll be fine."

"Yes, yes, you're right. History's shown a propensity to creep slowly from the honorable to the horrific. But that doesn't mean that anything and everything the governing body does to protect its citizens is malicious behind the scenes, if you'll forgive the pun."

Quinn spoke up, "That might be easier to believe if you weren't keeping their families hostage and threatening to execute them."

Sanders' eyes widened. He swung his feet back down to the floor and leaned forward, mirroring the Doctor now. "Who's been telling you that?"

"A roomful of very scared people," the Doctor said. "Scared and desperate because they think you're going to hurt the people they love most in the whole world."

"Consider your sources, Doctor," Sanders said. "The overly-dramatic sort, imaginations running free, overtly expressive. How do you know what they said is any closer to the truth than what I've told you?"

"Experience. I know what frightened people are like. I see it all the time, and these people we truly terrified."

"Indeed. Of course, that begs the question of who, exactly, you are, and what you're doing here."

"Me? Oh, I'm just a fan of the arts, trying to make sure the play goes off without a hitch."

"Now, I know that's not true. Making sure this goes off without a hitch is _my _job, not yours, and to that end, last night the play was screened for several high ranking officials to make sure it would met his majesty's approval, myself included. This is not the approved play as written, not even close. I'm warning you, make sure you put it right." He stood up and made for the door, his business apparently concluded.

"And if I don't?"

Sanders stopped at the door. "Then you'll get a lot of innocent people killed."

"Let them _go_, Sanders."

He smiled and said, almost apologetically, "I'm afraid that's never going to happen, Doctor."

The Doctor and Quinn stood to follow him as he left the actors' lounge. "Wait! Come back here!" the Doctor called.

Saunders didn't stop walking, didn't even turn around, as he said, "No one is coming to stop you, Doctor. Nobody's going to storm the stage and force you to be silent. But if you don't let us get on with our business, then I do promise you that people will die." And with that he disappeared out a side door.

"So now what do we do?" Quinn asked after a moment as the Doctor stared at the door where Sanders had left.

"Prove him wrong. Come on."

The rest of the cast were watching Callie, alone on stage, giving a monologue about her husband.

"How's it going out there?" the Doctor asked, coming up behind Robert.

"It's alright. Fortunately a soliloquy about a dead husband is pretty similar to one about an imprisoned one."

"Good, good."

They were all silent a moment, watching Callie sit on the bed holding a picture of her husband. "I don't know how I'm supposed to do this without you," she said, hugging the photograph close to her chest. "Is sacrificing our future worth it, just for the things we believe in? What would you do if you were here?"

"I need to talk to the cast," he said. "Can you assemble everyone backstage please?"

"I don't think anyone here wants to hear what you have to say, Doctor," Robert replied. "At least I certainly don't."

The Doctor sighed. "Look, I know you don't trust me, I know you think I'm playing with the lives of your loved ones, but I'm not. I care, and I'm trying to help, honest I am. But I can't do that if you won't let me."

"Really? If you're waiting for permission it's not coming. And now you tell me that's all I have to do to shut you up? Fantastic!"

"If we don't do something now, when we have the chance, then the bad guys win, the government stands unopposed, and you spend the rest of your life under their heel."

"Tough. I don't want your help. I don't want to overthrow the Anchors... not anymore anyway. All I want is to finish the run of this wretched play and get my son back."

"And what kind of world will be live in then, hm? One where he has to be afraid he'll be shot if he goes too far from home? One where he lives in constant fear of the ruling party?"

"One where he lived to be ten and grew up with his daddy," Robert said, finally looking away from the stage towards the Doctor. "Can you promise me that?"

"Yes, of course, I-"

"Think carefully before you answer, Doctor. Can you guarantee me the absolute safety of my child? I know, of course, you'll try your best, but can you promise I'll have him back safe and sound?" The Doctor faltered, and she knew he'd lost Robert. "I thought so. This is the best chance I have of getting my boy back."

"A government willing to kidnap a child and hold them for ransom isn't the most trustworthy organization," the Doctor said. "How do you know they'll turn your son over after all this? Maybe one play's not enough, maybe they'll demand another, a whole series." Robert wasn't looking at him or replying anymore.

"Forget about him, Doctor," Quinn said, and both men turned to face her as if they'd forgotten she was here. She looked Robert right in the eye and said, "You're a _terrible _father."

The man's eyes went wide and his jaw fell open. "How dare you! You come here, endanger everything we hold dear, and then you have the nerve to tell _me-_"

"Yeah, I do. Only a completely selfish parent would risk letting their child grow up unhappy just to keep them close."

"You don't understand what I'm talking about, you don't know what it is to-"

"Really? I don't know? _I don't know_?!" She had balled up her fists on her hips and was laying into him now, and even though he stood a good foot taller than her she was doing a good job of backing him into a wall. "You might be able to pull that over on somebody else, but not me. Keeping a child safe is about more than holding them in your arms. It's about doing what's best for their future, their _whole life_. You have a chance to help everyone and you're not going to take it?" She shook her head. "I'd be ashamed if you were my dad. And if you knew anything about me, you'd realize how big of a deal that is."

Robert was looking over her head at the stage lights, the curtain, anything to avoid making eye contact now. "What do you want from me, huh?" he asked in a defeated tone.

"Let us help. Let the Doctor help you. Please."

He sighed. "Assemble the rest of the cast."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: OK, getting better anyway. I'm only 45 minutes late! I'm trying to get the chapters up sooner but usually, I end up writing it right before it goes live. Sorry. And since I've been asked, I don't post on a specific day. I just try to get one chapter posted sometime between Saturday morning and Sunday night - sometime over the weekend. But of course this week has a holiday, so I'll try to get a chapter posted that day as well. "Try" being the operative word.**

**For those wondering about the prologue chapter, stick with me, this will all make sense. And, moreso than the other stories, this one flows right into the next one. I'm really nervous about how the next one is going to be received, and every chapter gets us closer to it, but... as the Doc would say, "Allons-y!"**

* * *

"We don't have a lot of time, so I'll make this brief," the Doctor said. Callie's soliloquy had another five minutes or so on it, and then it was going to be time for the next scene. "I've just had a visit from your King's right hand man. He's reiterated his threat to your families and loved ones if I don't fall into line."

"Then you better be here to tell us that's exactly what you plan to do," Josh said. "Otherwise you won't be having a good day."

"I'm afraid not," the Doctor replied. "But I can promise that I'm here to help."

"Oh here we go again. How many times do you have to be told to get it in that thick head of yours? Nobody here _wants _your help."

"That's... not true," Robert said. "I would. It was recently pointed out to me that my worldview has been somewhat... narrow as of late."

"I can't believe this," the lighting director replied. "You let this con man talk you into something Robert?"

"I'm not a con man," the Doctor said. "Not today, anyway. Now, I could abandon my plan, I could stop trying to make sure the people get to hear a message of hope instead of one of heartbreak. But I'm not going to do that."

"But what about the King's threat?" Howard asked.

"I'm getting to that. What if I could promise your families would be safe?"

"How?"

"I'll save them," the Doctor said. "I'll get them out, wherever they're being held."

"None of us even knows where that is," Clegg said, "and even if we did, it'd take a whole army to assault it."

"I'm thinking of a... subtler approach," the Doctor said. "But I'll have to take my ship, and it creates a bit of a ruckus. Which means we have to work that into the play as well."

"That's funny. I remember when Robert called the shots around here..."

"That's enough Josh!" Lana said. "If this guy can help..."

"If! Exactly! If! He shows up out of nowhere and just expects us to trust him? 'Oh I'm here to make all your hopes and dreams come true!'" he said in a mocking tone. "'I almost screwed everything up but I'll fix it and free your planet. I've been here almost an _hour_ now, after all.' This is a joke, and you're all falling for it!"

"I don't think it is," Robert said, and Josh raised an eyebrow at him. "Yeah, okay, maybe when he first showed up but... C'mon man. This guy just sat in a room with the second most threatening man on the planet and he didn't even flinch. That's got to be worth something."

"All your family members are young," Howard said, "but mine are elderly. Every day they're in there is another chance I won't see them again. If we can save them tonight, I'm all for it."

"Clegg," Josh said, almost pleading. "I know at least _you're_ still with me on this."

"Uh..."

"Oh, I don't believe this! How do we know what he'll do after he leaves here? He might make things worse! He doesn't know a thing about this nation."

"Then come with me," the Doctor said.

"What?"

"You don't trust me. I understand that. You don't know me. But I could use a guide anyway, and this way if I step out of line, you'll be there to stop me."

'I'd like to see him try', Quinn thought, but she didn't say anything.

"And me," Howard said. "I'm dead, you don't need me for anything around here. But the Doctor might need an extra pair of hands."

"Glad to have you aboard," the Doctor said with a genuine smile. "And Quinn will keep us apprised of the situation here."

"Wait, what?!" she asked, mouth dropping open as she dragged him a few steps away from the group. "No, you're not leaving me here!"

"I need you to run interference here, and let us know if anything happens."

"No way. Every time we get separated, something terrible happens to me."

"C'mon, don't be stupid."

"I had to crawl through miles of conduits to power up a space station, I almost crashed a shuttle into an ocean..."

"...alright, a few times..."

"...and I was almost sacrificed to a giant stone god! I'm not letting you out of my sight."

"Look, I know, I know it's dangerous. But I need your help if we're going to pull this off. You can do it, I know you can."

She sighed. "Alright, I'll do it. What do you need?"

"We need to come up with a plan here. Go with Lana, help set up the next scene."

"What do I do?"

"Just promise the resistance our help if they'll meet with us."

She nodded. "Okay. But give me the psychic paper, in case I need it while you're gone. It seems like its kept you out of prison, anyway." He handed her the leather wallet. "Thanks. What's it say, anyway?"

"No idea," he replied. "I let them fill in the blanks."

"Why didn't you show it to the MIB back there?"

"It seemed better not to tip our hand, at least not yet. Whatever's on there has a pretty deep significance for these people. Just... don't use that unless you have to - last ditch effort and all that. Now, go get ready for your scene."

The rest of the crowd was already dispersing, except for Keith, who was sitting exactly where he had been, next to the snack table, unmoving, throughout the whole exchange. She poured herself a cup of water and said, "You've been quiet."

"Yeah."

"What's wrong?"

"I'm trying to think what to tell the others."

She'd forgotten, in all the excitement, that he was the only one relaying messages to the actors playing the soldiers. If they knew what the Doctor was planning, they might report it to someone. "You don't think what they're doing is right, do you?"

"I'm... er... undecided," he said. "I uh, honestly, I don't think it's good for people to be so polarized about things, you know?"

"Yeah, I know what that's like," she said. "It's like this about everything back home."

"How do you choose?"

"I don't know."

"No, I don't mean to be, um, philosophical. I literally, really, mean you. Um, personally. How do _you _choose?"

"I..." she faltered, unsure how to answer. "Sometimes it's based on what someone else told me to believe, sometimes it's about selecting the least objectionable alternative... there isn't just a single right answer. If I have two options, I just think... is there a choice I could make where I wouldn't be able to live with myself afterwards? And whatever's left, that's what I do." She sat down on a chair next to him. "It doesn't always work, though."

"No?"

"No. I have a decision that I can't make. Because sometimes..." she took a deep breath. "Sometimes I don't think I'd be able to live with myself either way. And then what do I do?"

He puffed a breath out through his lips in exasperation. "I don't know," he said. "What was that 'least objectionable alternative' thing again?"

She chuckled uneasily. "Yeah. I guess." She looked at him. "You have to do what you feel is right but... the soldiers are the ones saying people are going to die if we don't follow them. And for me, I know that's something I _wouldn't _be able to live with."

"Yeah. I guess so. But if I refuse to give them information... they won't be above punishing me, even if my brother is sympathetic to their cause."

"We can help. The Doctor and I-"

"Quinn, sweetie?" A pleasant voice called. She stood up and turned around to find Lana beckoning her. "C'mon, darlin', next scene's starting in a minute."

"I have to go," she said to Keith, "but... think about what I said?"

"I will."

* * *

Quinn and Lana entered from the right side of the stage, where a few steps and a tiny porch had been tacked on to the living room set. To say she was nervous was an understatement. She'd never tried improv, and had no reason to believe she'd be any good at it.

Lana knocked on the door with her fist - six loud, hard bangs - and suddenly the kind lady in her thirties who had called Quinn 'sweetie' and 'darlin' was gone, replaced in an instant with this brash, loud woman who seemed like she'd fit right in at a truck stop. Quinn had to admire her acting chops.

The door opened to reveal Callie's character, on the verge of tears, still wearing her nightgown from the "night" before. "Oh, Gert!" she said, reaching out and hugging the older woman. From her vantage point behind them, she could see Lana whisper something in Callie's ear, hidden from the audience by the door frame. In just a few words, she filled her in on what was going to happen next. They really _were _a professional theatre company, Quinn thought. She'd love to see the kind of thing they would do when they weren't under the threat of losing their loved ones.

"There there," Lana said. "I know, I know. It's hard."

"They just took him from me!" she cried into the proffered shoulder. "I can't believe he's de... locked up," she said, nearly slipping back into the dialogue as written. "What do I do now?"

"You keep going," she said. "You make him proud."

Quinn clenched her eyes shut. If she didn't say something now, she wouldn't say a thing the whole scene. _Please let this be the right thing to do, please please please..._

"You let us inside," she said. "It's cold out here." It at least earned her a laugh from the audience. Maybe this wouldn't be too hard. Maybe she _could _do it. The two women broke their embrace, and all three entered the living room set. Quinn's eyes went wide when she saw the room, or more specifically what was missing from it. "Where's the TARDIS?!" she said, legitimately surprised. Callie and Lana looked to the place behind the settee where the blue box had stood, surprised that it wasn't there as well. Quinn looked past them, to see Steve arguing with another stage hand and gesturing at something backstage. Obviously when they'd redressed the stage from the bedroom back to the living room, nobody had remembered to put it back.

"I, uh... some of my husband's associates collected it," Callie said, recovering from her shock quickly. "I don't want it in my house. For that matter I'm not sure about you either."

"Me?"

"My husband was arrested because of you!"

"In case you didn't notice, they came in shooting. We probably saved his life." She tried to calm herself; this was just a play, after all. There was no point in getting genuinely angry. Then she realized that as long as she was fired up, it was easier to come up with a good comeback, and tried to hang on to the anger instead.

"What are you doing here? What do you want?"

"We just want to help."

"Do you have an army?" Lana's character Gertrude asked gruffly. "Guns? Anything?"

"No..."

"Then what help are you going to be to a resistance movement?"

"There are better ways of doing this," Quinn said. "The Doc... my friend taught me that."

"You're full of it."

"Just... let's talk. Please, that's all. Just let us talk to you, and I promise we'll help."


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Happy 4th of July everyone! For my American readers, I hope you had a chance to get some good BBQ, and enjoy some fireworks (that is, if you don't live in a state that was threatening to burn itself to the ground if even the tiniest spark was applied to it.**

**For my English readers... hm. I don't know what to say. I guess the 4th of July isn't a big holiday over there. In fact I'd understand if you all are still a little bit miffed about it.**

**Either way, bonus chapter. Good news, right? This'll be a short trip; the Doctor should make it back to the theater and Quinn next chapter.**

* * *

"Alright," the Doctor said. "We're going to stage a prison break."

"Just the three of us?" Josh asked. He, the Doctor, and Henry had gathered around a table backstage.

"Yup," the Doctor replied. "Just us. No weapons, no offensive force. Just a quick thing. In and out, smooth and easy."

"Okay, fine," Howard said, not too keen on shooting up the place himself. "The first thing we have to do is find out where they're being held. Nobody knows where the King's prisoners are held. It's a national secret."

"We'll figure it out," the Doctor said. "Process of elimination. Has anyone ever come back from the prison?"

"Never," Howard said.

"No, wait," Josh jumped in. "There was that one old guy, remember? About nine years back, they realized they'd wrongly imprisoned that guy when the real killer gave a deathbed confession."

"Right, yeah!"

"Did he say anything? Anything at all that might help?"

"I really don't remember much," Josh said. "I was just a kid..."

"There's gotta be something."

"I remember he said... he said he never thought he'd hear clearly again. He was so happy to be free, and when they asked what he was looking forward to most, he said... just listening. Just hearing the sounds of everyday life clearly again, not drowned out by his solitude."

"That doesn't tell us anything," Josh said, annoyed. "Just that he was in prison, and we knew that."

"What about transports?" the Doctor asked. "Does anyone ever see any transports leaving, heading for the hills or the sea or anything?"

"No, why?"

"A prison's not self sustaining. They need supplies from somewhere. And your old man... he didn't say he was looking forward to hearing sounds again. He was looking forward to hearing them clearly. Why would he make that distinction?" The Doctor paced back and forth a few times, finger tapping his chin excitedly, deep in thought. "Underground!" he said suddenly. "If you're deep enough underground there'd be a change in pressure. It'd be like having swimmer's ear constantly. And where would a government that doesn't want people to get away put its dissenters?" He held out his arms, inviting them to answer, but the two men just looked at each other, confused. "Smack dab in the middle of civilization!" the Doctor said. "What's the most central location in the whole place?"

"The Greenhouse of his Majesty King Archer the 3rd," Howard said. "It's an arboretum smack dab in the middle of the city."

"Then that's where we start. We just have to get into the TARDIS. Speaking of which, shouldn't it be on stage?"

They all looked up from the planning table to discover that the stage hands had discovered the same error. The TARDIS sat behind the false back wall of the set, window panels glowing in the darkness. It hadn't been put back with the couch and bar when they redressed the set.

The actors were rolling with the punches, thankfully, but there was very little they could do apart from improvise a response. Fortunately, it seemed to be plausible enough for the audience to believe.

"This works out for us," the Doctor said. "You two get inside, and I'll join you."

"How are you going to get in and take off without anyone noticing?"

"I'm not," the Doctor said. "In fact I'll have failed if they don't."

"Won't they stop you from leaving?"

"I'd like to see them try. What's the next scene?"

"A meeting with my 'wife' and the leaders of the resistance," Howard said.

"Perfect."

* * *

The headquarters set was just about the most elaborate of them all. Robert wanted it that way, and the set designers had done a pretty good job of making his vision a reality. Monitors blinked and complicated equipment everywhere gave it an appearance of being a mad scientist's lair. The purpose of any particular piece didn't seem readily apparent, but that served their purposes well enough. He'd insisted that he wanted his resistance leaders to appear busy in every scene. In fact they were instructed to look away from their equipment only rarely, to give the appearance that they were so engrossed in the process that they couldn't even take a moment to look away.

The set took a few minutes to be re-dressed, and the actors who were about to go on were waiting in the wings while gentle music played over the darkened stage being done up as a highly technical headquarters.

"Well done out there," the Doctor said as Quinn came off stage with Callie and Lana. "I knew you could do it!" And the thing was, the way he positively beamed at her, she could tell he meant it.

"Thanks," she said. "Did it really help, do you think?"

"Everything helps," he said sincerely. "Maybe it solves the problem, maybe it doesn't, but it definitely helps. I promise."

"Good."

Callie and Howard were talking a short distance away, whispering. Howard was probably filling her in on the plan the Doctor had hatched. She reached out and hugged him tightly, and Quinn caught the words "be careful," coming from her lips.

"They make quite the pair," she said, smiling.

"Yeah," the Doctor agreed. "Great chemistry between them. They put on a good show."

She shook her head. "Typical guy," she said. "You don't get it, do you?"

"What?" he asked, sending her into a fit of laughter.

"What is it? What?"

"He's so totally into her!" she said. "Not the character, them! He's smitten."

"No! No, he's not!"

"Really? You don't see the way he follows her around like a lost puppy? Agrees with everything she says?"

"Well..."

"Well what?"

"Well, that doesn't necessarily mean that..."

"Please. I know what I'm talking about."

"Oh?"

"Let's see," she said. "Theater people in a love triangle. Yeah. Where would I know anything about that from?" she asked him sarcastically.

"That explains it, I suppose," he said.

"Explains what?"

"Why he's so eager to go with me. It's not about his family at all. It's about hers."

"That's kinda sweet, though."

"Yeah. I suppose."

"So what did you find?"

"Not much to go on, really, but we'll start at the arboretum. Which reminds me, here, take this," he said, giving her a small flat disc. "Short range subspace communicator," he said. "Check in with me whenever you can. If things start to go wrong around here, let me know."

"I will," she promised."

"Good. And, there's one more thing you can do."

"What is it?"

"A little sleight of hand."

He whispered a few words in her ear, and she smiled deviously. "I think I can handle that," she said.

Howard and Josh had assembled next to the Police Box, and the stage hands were ready to wheel it out on stage. "Just you be careful," Josh was saying to Steve. "I don't want to get jostled around into Hackett's ribcage in there."

"Oh, I don't think that'll be a problem," the Doctor said, unlocking the door. "Now come on, in you go. Don't touch anything."

"Let Hackett squeeze in first," Josh said. "He'll probably fill out a lot of it by himself."

"I think you'll both be fine," the Doctor said, and he let Howard in first, motioning for him to be silent.

"Whatever," Josh said. "I don't know how the hell you think you're going to get in here too." He stepped into the TARDIS. "What the actual-"

The Doctor shut the door behind them and locked it again before telling Steve to go ahead and put it in place on stage.

The four resistance team members stood next to him, waiting to take their places on stage. "Robert says we're to go with whatever you say out there,"

Charlotte said. "Are you just acting?"

"No," he said.

"So you really think you can help us?" Ramond asked. "Because we've heard that before."

"I'm sorry?"

"There was someone else, and he promised that..."

Robert gave a shrill whistle and waved his arms. They were needed on stage.

"Sorry, got to to," Ryan said, ushering the group along.

"No, no, wait! Who else has been here?" the Doctor asked frantically. "Who else promised you change? It could be..." but they'd already walked off towards the stage. "..important," he said defeatedly. Oh well. He'd find out soon enough, one way or the other.

* * *

The resistance set was finally in place. The TARDIS stood alone in a corner, looking out of place against the shiny, sleek, white metal of the set it was residing in. If only they knew the treasure trove of technology inside, Quinn thought, they'd never second guess the wooden box's potential. She leaned against the wall backstage, watching the Doctor at work. Whether it was a play or not didn't matter; she was enjoying seeing him doing what he did best.

"Any progress, Bishop?" Charlotte asked from her position at the center of the control room. The three men sat at stations surrounding her, eyes fixed on the readings their instruments were giving them.

"None. The mainframes have been at it for months now. Still no closer."

"Just keep it up," Charlotte said. "How's the power regulator holding out Owen?"

"Not bad, Pat,"

"Good. Just keep the capacitor levels above seventy percent."

"Yes ma'am," he said with a wry smile.

"Garrett, any progress with the... new equipment?"

"None," he said, looking at the TARDIS, then back to a handheld of some kind. "I'm not getting a thing from it. No EM, no spectrographic spikes, nothing. It may as well not be here."

"I might be able to help with that," the Doctor said, striding onto the stage. "I hear you've impounded something of mine. I'd like to have it back."

"It's you!" Charlotte said. "How did you get in here?"

"Oh, I'm good with doors," the Doctor said. "I like the security, though," he said, looking around at the room and never at her directly. "The fractal differential to get through that last door... that was brilliant!" he said. "Who came up with that one? Was it after an all night bender? Seems like the sort of thing you'd do after a good bender. Fractals are always more fun with double vision."

"We heard about your entrance last night," she replied, not really caring what he was rambling on about. "You got our leader imprisoned.

"

"Better than killed," the Doctor replied.

"Arguable," Charlotte said. She hadn't moved from her spot, arms crossed in front of her chest, as she stared the Doctor down. "If he talks, he'll lead them right to us, and we'll never finish our work."

"Speaking of your work," the Doctor said, "what're you up to down here in the Batcave? Looks complicated.

"

"You wouldn't understand," she said.

"Oh, come on, try me."

She sighed. "We're getting out of here, one way or another. The government wants to stop us, so we had to move our operation underground, but we'll still see it through."

"What kind of operation?"

"None of your concern."

"I'm trying to help you, Patsy," the Doctor said. "But I can't do that if you won't give me a little consideration in return."

"How do you expect to help us?"

"I haven't worked that out yet," he said honestly. "But that doesn't mean I'm not going to try. Now," he said, putting on his glasses and looking at the monitors. "What are you up to."

She sighed. "It's a two part process," she said. "Part 1 is already complete, and has been for some time. That's the escape part. We've got a way out."

"Good. Always good to have an exit strategy."

"Yes. But in this case, we've got nowhere to go. Which is where Part 2 comes in."

"And Part 2 involves computing power," the Doctor said. "Lots of it by the looks of things. How'd you get access to this kind of technology?"

"We have a few generous benefactors," she said.

"You'd have to." He peered at the Joey Bishop character's screen. "That's a huge amount of data you're pushing through every second. But your processors are only running at forty percent efficiency. Why's that?"

"If we want to stay under the radar and not bring the army right to our doorstep, we need to regulate our power consumption. We run the whole facility off of a series of capacitors. If we draw too much live power from the grid, we'd be caught, so we store up as much as we can in the reserves and then power everything off of those."

"This is very impressive," the Doctor said.

"Thank you." Charlotte said, her voice hard and strong, as if he had somehow insulted her with the compliment.

"No," he said, "I mean it. Really." He glanced off stage, his face and unreadable mask, but Quinn sensed something was up. She wouldn't get the chance to talk about it with him now, but she made a mental note to ask when he got back... as if there was even a chance that he wouldn't be running his mouth about it at a hundred miles an hour.

"I admire what you're doing, really," the Doctor said. "but there's still people in prisoned, who don't have a way out. Like your leader. Friends, family, mothers, brothers, sisters... what about them?"

"We'll try something," she said. "I don't know what. But that doesn't mean we're not going to try," she said, smiling as she turned his phrase back on him.

"Good," he said, eyes twinkling.

"Keep doing what you do. It's important. Don't let anyone stand in your way. In the meantime, I'll do something to help."

"What's that?"

"I'm going to see someone about the state of things around here," the Doctor said. He looked out into the audience again. "'This is the last chance,' I'll say. 'One last chance to change your mind, and end this. If you let these people go I'll walk away. I won't say another word. If not... I'll tear the whole thing down myself before the sun rises.'" It was silent on the set. "Er, that's what I'll say when I get there," he said. "Will there be a response, I wonder?"

Out in the house, Telbok Sanders had stepped under an emergency light, so he could be seen through the glare of the stage lights, and simply shook his head.

"Right. I'll be off then."

He unlocked the TARDIS, and said to Ryan, "What to see how it really works? Have a look." Ryan peered into the open doors of the TARDIS, and his mouth fell open in genuine shock. "How is that..."

The audience chuckled as he reached a tentative hand into the console room, checking to see if it was an illusion.

"See you in two shakes," the Doctor said, stepping passed him into the Police Box. "Not actually of course but... soon."

The TARDIS disappearing got an even bigger cheer from the audience. Now they were looking closely, but they still couldn't figure out how this was done, for obvious reasons.

David, Avery, and Adam, the three Anchors playing the soldiers, had come up behind Quinn as the TARDIS vanished, their mouths also falling open - they hadn't seen it appear with their own eyes earlier, leaving them completely stunned.

"Where is he going?" Avery asked, still slack jawed.

Quinn smirked, turned around, and told them exactly what the Doctor had whispered in her ear.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N I know I said this trip would only take one chapter but I added a few bits, so it'll spill into the next chapter as well.**

* * *

The TARDIS squeezed itself into existence in a small corner of the room, fading slowly out of the darkness, rustling the leaves of a few nearby trees. The doors opened a few seconds later, and the Doctor emerged, looking around frantically already, getting a sense of his bearings. The other two TARDIS occupants hobbled out more slowly, looking at the Police Box with a dazed expression. They were scarcely able to believe what had happened to them in the past fifteen minutes; the bigger-on-the-insideness of the box was, in many ways, playing second fiddle to its go-anywhereness. Here was a thing that, quite literally, was a dream come true for them. They were trying to broaden their horizons, but none had dared dream they could possibly be this broad.

This was more than about getting away from here. This represented possibilities and hopes nobody had dared ever even think about, the kinds of things that they could do and be... the scope expanded exponentially from here when you had that kind of technology available to you.

The Travelers, right now, didn't have anything like it. They barely had the means to get out of the immediate area when - no longer if, but when... they were starting to believe this man really was who he said he was, really could do what he said he had set out to do. When the time came, they had the means to get a short distance away, but that was it. This, on the other hand, was the possibility of exploration and adventure on the grand scale, the sort of thing they only dreamed of.

The Doctor was oblivious to the sense of wonder that had come over the two men. He had a plan, and now it had been rolled out, he was all business, all frantic energy looking for an outlet.

"We're indoors," he said in a flat tone, surprised.

"Of course we are," Howard said back. "It's a greenhouse. It's got to be climate controlled, doesn't it?"

"Yeah..." the Doctor said. But something felt off... wrong, and it had the very second he stepped out of the TARDIS. He'd have to keep an eye out for it; whatever it was, if it was really as important as he thought it might be, it'd pop up sooner or later, make itself known.

His train of thought was interrupted by an unmistakable sound - the hammer of a gun was clicked behind him somewhere. He turned, looking for the source, instantly thinking he'd made a mistake giving Quinn the psychic paper, but it was just Josh. He was brandishing a small gun that he'd pulled from somewhere - shoulder holster, maybe. Not pointing it at Howard or the Doctor, thankfully, just holding it.

"What're you doing with that?" the Doctor asked angrily.

"I thought there might be some... company here to greet us," the man replied. "Besides, we're here on a prison break. I didn't want to come to the party unprepared." He waved the gun slightly on the word 'party' and smiled.

"Leave it," the Doctor commanded.

"You want to walk into a heavily guarded Anchor facility totally unarmed? Yeah, right, pal. Your funeral. I'm not going in without some... insurance, shall we say?"

"That's your insurance?" he asked, incredulously. "Six tiny slugs against the whole guard force? No. Now, I am helping you free your loved ones, but this is not how we do it," the Doctor said, eyeing the gun. Josh still didn't make any move to disarm himself, so the Doctor added, "Trust me. Please."

Josh eyed him up and down warily, then sighed, clicked the safety onto the gun, and placed it in the shoulder holster. "I'm not going in unarmed," he said. "A gun can come in useful in more ways than one if we get captured, Doctor," and the Time Lord sighed at the things the younger man was implying. "But I suppose it wouldn't hurt to see what you can do before I start shooting."

"That's all I'm asking," the Doctor replied, which wasn't strictly true; he'd stop anyone getting killed on this excursion, no matter what. "Now, let's see if we can't find anything out of the ordinary, shall we?"

They started walking in a random direction from the TARDIS, through the arboretum. It was more than that, though, the Doctor realized. In this case it was more like a botanical garden, which also happened to be an arboretum. Small artificial ponds and a few amphibious life forms rounded out the display of trees, flowers, and ferns alike. They were quite beautiful, really, especially a flower like a hydrangea with gold flecks around the tips of each petal, so much so that they seemed to have been dipped in real liquid gold. Maybe when all this was done he'd take Quinn for a walk here; it was certainly nice enough. Still, there was something wrong with the way the place looked. He still couldn't put his finger on it but something odd was prodding at him, seemingly from all around as they walked cobblestone paths surrounded by plants of every kind.

"All the same," Howard said after a few moments of silence had passed between the three men, "why aren't there any soldiers here to greet us?"

"You can thank Quinn for that," the Doctor said. "She's doing a little misdirection for us back at the theater."

"How so?"

"When we took off, I had her tell the soldiers we were going to blow up the city power plant so we could plunge the city into darkness. Of course, at the time I didn't realize what a good tactic that would turn out to be, but we should be mostly free to do as we please tonight. Assuming they passed the word on to those they're loyal to up the chain of command - and it looks as if they did - most of the security forces should be there waiting for us to threaten the place instead of here."

"So what are we looking for?"

"Something wrong, something out of the ordinary," the Doctor replied. "Which is turning out to be harder than I imagined initially, but the soundness of the plan still stands."

"And how do we know when we've found it?" Josh asked.

"Because it leads us to the next piece of the puzzle," the Doctor said. "Honestly, for people who claim to want nothing more than to explore the whole of creation, you don't really have an adventuring spirit."

"We'll save that for a time when nobody's about to get hurt," Howard said. "I still don't know what I'm looking for, specifically."

The Doctor sighed. "It's like spoon-feeding an infant," he sighed under his breath, and turned around, walking backwards down the path so he could face them while he talked. "Alright. We're guessing the prison is centrally located to the city, because nobody reports seeing any transports leaving the borders to either deliver prisoners or supplies, hence being here at the most central point of the capital. Assuming that's true, we're also guessing it's underground, based on the fact that nobody sees it or knows where it is, and the only known person to get back out after the fact reported being at least in some ways aware of life going on as usual very nearby."

"Doctor-" Howard said, holding up a hand as if to silence the Time Lord.

"Quiet a minute, I'm mulling something over. Now, the entrance would have to be somewhere big enough to get prisoners and supplies in and out. And if nobody's seen it, that means it's hidden somewhere."

Josh was also trying to get the Doctor's attention, waving his hands over his head now.

"Doctor, I really think you should look-"

"So where would you hide the entrance to a facility like that? If you had to keep it hidden, but not really hide it?" He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth a few times, and then exclaimed, "Poe!", just as he caught the back of his foot on a raised stone delineating the edge of the path and tumbled backwards into one of the standing ponds.

Josh and Howard raced forward to help. The Doctor didn't immediately come back up. The pond was shallow but he might have hit his head on the way down. They each grabbed one of his arms and pulled him into a sitting position.

The Doctor wasn't unconscious at all, though, or even injured. His eyes were wide open and he was staring straight ahead, smiling. A flowering plant that had been on the surface of the water with a tangle of roots had tangled itself into his hair, and he didn't even bother to pull it off. "Poe!" he said again, looking from Josh to Howard and back again, seeing nothing but confusion in their eyes.

"Edgar Allen Poe?" He asked, hoping for a glimmer of recognition. "He was this brilliant writer with a bent for the macabre, and... nevermind. Not important right now." He stood up and was off at a run down another path, just barely giving Howard a chance to throw the flower back into the pond. "Come on, come on, where is it?" he said, searching frantically for a signpost. Finally he found another one - there were several pointing the way to different exhibits scattered throughout the garden. He glanced at the sign and flew off down another fork in the path.

"Doctor, where are we going?"

"You're theater folks; you like a good story," the Doctor said. "And there's this story, this old Earth story, about a purloined letter. It's got information in it, enough to cause someone's political downfall," he said. "Some theif's stolen it, but the police can't find it. They've searched the thief's house high and low - checked for false bottoms in the drawers, peeled back the wallpaper, checked inside the couch cushions. They can't find the envelope anywhere. Then another detective goes for a search of the place himself, and finds it. It's been disguised a bit, but it's right there in plain sight, where everyone can see it. That's it. That's what they did. _Hidden it in plain sight_."

"So what is it?" Josh asked. "If it's in plain sight, that's fine, but what actually _is_ it?"

"There's a tree at the center of the pavilion," the Doctor said. "I saw it on a bulletin board out there somewhere."

"The tree?" Howard asked. "That's the secret? The tree?"

"Not just any tree," the Doctor said. "According to the photo I saw on one of the signs, a huge tree. They took a picture - probably a class photo. Thirty children making a circle by holding hands are pressed up against its trunk, and they can just barely encompass the whole thing. It's called..." he glanced at one of the exhibit signs again as they passed it, "...the Anchor tree. Too perfect."

"What?" Josh said. "No, the Anchors - the political group - took their name from the tree, not the other way round. The Anchor tree's been named that since... well, as far back as anyone can remember. Ages back, we're talking centuries, it was the way of life around here. Shelter, fruit, comfort and shade... it was so ancient it seemed like it'd been here since the beginning of time. Since way before we were here and for millennia after we were no more."

"Sounds poetic," the Doctor said.

"There's a lot of classic poetry and song about the Anchor tree," Howard said. "So when some of us got the notion that it was time to move on, it was only natural that those who opposed it would take its name. But I don't see what the ancient tree has to do with the relatively new political group," he said.

They followed one last twist in the path and came to a large clearing underneath the very center of the dome, the highest point, where an enormous tree reached up towards the sky, tempered by the invisible glass barrier above it - somehow apt, the Doctor thought, as if it embodied both group simultaneously. In an instant, he had the sonic screwdriver out, and was scanning the whole tree, circling it, with a wild gleam in his eye. "Come _on_, it has to be here."

"Doctor, the two things are not related," Howard said, but he was cut off by a hydraulic hissing sound. And in a moment, the Anchor tree revealed its secret to them. The whole trunk of the tree spread wide open, and revealed an elevator nestled inside the trunk. A huge, cargo style lift, just sitting in the middle of the trunk of this tree. Even as large as it was, it only accounted for a small portion of the massive tree trunk.

"Gentlemen," the Doctor said, "Allow me to present Anchor HQ."

"I don't believe it," Howard said. "I don't believe they would desecrate something so important to so many this way!"

"How long have there been Travelers?" the Doctor asked.

"What do you mean?"

"How long since you 'got a notion to leave'?"

"A few years," Josh replied. "Two or three since it really started taking off."

"It's not long enough," the Doctor said. "Not to build something like this. Not in secret, without anyone knowing."

"So what do we do now?"

"Same thing anyone does when presented with a lift," the Doctor replied, stepping in. "Press for the lobby."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: I keep thinking of more things I need to have happen in this story. I think it's got between 2 and 5 chapters left. We'll see.**

**Like many other fans, I was saddened to hear about Cory Monteith's passing, and while I've never been the sort to feel a great sense of loss towards someone I only knew through their work on my television screen, I did appreciate his work and the character he portrayed, and my sympathy goes out to those who did know him personally, professionally, or just as a fan, and are feeling a sense of loss. It doesn't seem like enough - it never did when someone said it to me after someone I cared about passed away and I know it never can be. But as the Doctor would say, "I'm sorry. Really, I am so sorry."**

* * *

"Something's wrong," the Doctor said. "Something's... different."

"Different than what?" Josh asked. "Have you been here before?"

"No." He didn't say anything for a moment as they walked down the corridor. Then, almost as if it were a new conversation, he said, "That's what's different about it."

"Did you hit your head when you smacked it on that little pond or something?"

"No, no, no," the Doctor said. "At least... I don't think so."

Howard rolled his eyes. "Where are we going?"

"Prison block," the Doctor replied. "Wherever that is."

"Well we better find it pretty quickly. How long can it possibly be until they notice they've got unwelcome guests?"

"Probably not long," the Doctor agreed. "Fortunately once you get inside, there tends to be a directory somewhere."

"So you think it's just going to be marked 'prison' in block letters?"

"Might be."

They were in a long, illuminated corridor. Light fixtures glowed white in the ceiling, casting stark areas of brightness and shadow all around them. The darkness clung to the walls as they moved from island of illumination to island of illumination. Somewhere down here, they'd find everything they were looking for... right? Howard couldn't help but think that something, somehow, wasn't going to work out the way he was hoping it would. He wasn't feeling particularly optimistic that somehow, after today, everything was going to be fantastic and wonderful. They'd been trying to get to this point for two years. Now a man had fallen out of the sky and made more progress towards their ultimate goal in a single night than the combined forces of all of them had been able to in all this time. It seemed like he was on their side, at least for now, but what if he wasn't? What if it was all a trick, somehow? This guy seemed to know all about the government of their sovereign nation, after all. How was he figuring all of this stuff out anyway? Unless he knew it all from before, from earlier in his life. It was at least a possibility.

Howard really, really hoped it wasn't, because if it was, then they were all in trouble. If this guy turned on them, based on the things he'd seen him do, that would be a very bad thing indeed. This guy was intelligent, and he was strong, and most importantly he was absolutely fearless. He'd stood right there on stage and looked out into the audience, and he'd threatened the King himself. The audience might not have got it, but he was sure that the King and his advisors had. How were they not all here, right now, taking them into custody. Maybe that was what the Doctor was on about, about something being different.

The corridor seemed to stretch on forever as they trudged their way down it, but abruptly the far wall appeared out of the darkness, with a single, completely insecure, non-technical door at the end of it. A crash bar was all that stood between them and what was beyond. The Doctor didn't seem inclined to wait or play it safe; as soon as the trio reached the door he reached out and pushed it open, stepping boldly into the next room.

Howard wasn't sure what he'd expect to find there. A cell block, maybe? Rows and rows of cells with scared looking faces staring out at him, silently hoping for their freedom? The huddled masses, some of them young, others old, all emaciated from hunger and pain and sorrow.

That was what he was expecting.

So it was quite a surprise to see the exact opposite. No cells, no beds, no prisoners at all. What kind of a prison was this, anyway? Because it wasn't like anything he'd been expecting, not even remotely.

"Okay," the Doctor said, leaning over the safety railing that looked out into the cavernous chamber. "That's more like it."

They were standing on a small outcropping that looked into a massive chamber. From their position at one end, Howard could barely see the other side, and it wasn't even dark in there. When he looked over the side, the giant cavern seemed to stretch down away from them forever. And in the center of this huge, hollowed out room, was a giant glass cylinder. It was massive, and at the very heart of it oranges and reds swirled about one another. The whole room seemed abuzz with a deep, steady hum, one that made his chest vibrate as it carried on.

"What... what is that?" Josh asked, and it was almost a relief to hear him in something resembling awe - or for that matter just without anything to say at all. No smarmy retort or any wisecrack... just pure, unadulterated shock and awe. Not that he'd grown weary of the young lighting director over the last several months but...

...no, actually, that was exactly what it was like.

"That," the Doctor said, "Is a power generator. And not just your garden variety, no. That's a huge power production facility. At the heart, right there," he said, pointing, "you see that glimmer? It's a Zero Point energy matrix, and it's still not enough. You don't have any idea what kind of power generation we're talking about here. The human mind can't encompass it. Well... the Time Lord mind can barely encompass it."

"I don't understand."

"Inside the chamber, the engineers who built this monstrosity have created their own artificial pocket universe. An entire reality, just to use as a giant battery. Granted, a tiny reality, one of the smaller ones, but still. The power you can milk out of one of those is enormous, and still it's not enough, so they've gone a step further. This thing goes all the way down to the bottom," he said, indicating the massive power core. "They've turned this whole planet into a battery."

"What for?" Howard asked.

"Beats me," the Doctor said. "What all do you want from a visual examination?"

"There's a console over here, Doctor," Josh said. "It might be documented."

"There we go! Nicely done, Joshy-boy." He sat down and balanced his spectacles on his nose as he started typing frantically at the keyboard. "No password lockout," he said. "Interesting."

"Does that matter?" Howard asked.

"Maybe. Tells us they never imagined in their wildest dreams that someone would get down here, for one thing," he said. "Arrogance, overconfidence... those sound like things we can work with." He tapped away at the computer for a few moments, tracking circuit diagrams, pulling up wiring schematics, checking contracts with builders and consultants and physicists... none of whom seemed to have been paid, as if they'd all met with... unfortunate accidents of some kind right after construction concluded. How interesting, the Doctor thought, wishing that he were surprised by something just this once. "Aha, here we go," he said.

"What is it?"

"Well," he said, "whatever it is that's sucking up all this power is down at the bottom of this shaft. All the way down, in fact."

"We don't have time for this," Howard reminded him. "We're supposed to be quick, remember? In and out, that's what you said."

"Yeah, I did, didn't I?" he said absent-mindedly. "But I mean, since we're here and all that..."

The two traveling companions sighed. "Is there any way we get out of this without you going down to take a look?" Josh asked point blank.

The Doctor made a show of tapping his finger to his lips a few times, brow furrowed as if in deep thought, then said, "No, I don't believe there is." He leapt up from the chair and bounded over to a tiny hatch in the floor which led down to a ladder. "Allons-y, gentlemen!"

The two climbed after him, although he had a considerable head start on them as they'd bickered for a few seconds about which of them would descend the ladder first. Ultimately Josh had won and was now sandwiched in between Howard above him and the Doctor far below. The Time Lord seemed to be taking the rungs two at a time, and he was making his way down to the bottom at a fairly good clip. Josh looked down at him. They were just a couple hundred feet away from the bottom now. When he looked up, leaning back so as to have a view of something other than Howard's feet, the ceiling was beginning to fade away, too far away for his eyes to even see it. Granted, it was dark in here, with the Zero Point Whatever the Doctor had pointed out casting an eerie glow and oddly shaped, random shadows in every direction. They descended the ladder in silence, the two humans looking down cautiously with each passing step The Doctor, on the other hand, stepped off the ladder with a spring in his step, looking around excitedly to see if there were any more panels, or dome documentation, or anything, really. He wanted nothing more than infomraton, and he craved it the way a man in the desert craved water. What could a small nation need so much power for, that they would build a pocket universe into their own planet in order to run it?

For that matter, where did they get technology like that? The people weren't completely technophobic, that much was guaranteed. This certainly wasn't a technologically challenged people. The Doctor had observed mobile communicators in the dressing rooms backstage, the lighting cues were all computer generated in the theater, it wasn't as if they were putting together a play in Shakespeare's England. They had to have gotten this from somewhere, though. A pocket universe? You didn't just come up with one of those in your sleep one day. This was the kind of raw brainpower that came from being involved in the galactic thinktanks. Hardly anyone came up with this just out of nowhere.

So. Three questions. Where did they get this kind of technology that they had hidden away underneath the planet? What was it for? And what did any of this have to do with keeping people caged within the boundaries of one country?

The answer to the second question was in a room just ahead of them. Unlike the console on the main level that had allowed him to find this place to begin with that also regulated the power levels inside the singularity, this door was locked up tight. Retinal scanners, DNA scanners, a keypad where he could enter a passphrase, and an ID badge reader were all present. Yet another piece of the psychological profile fell into place. What was so important that you'd let anyone play with the power for, but not the thing itself? What was worth guarding so carefully?

They may have had technology that seemed to be years beyond their evolutionary scale, but unfortunately for them nobody had been bothered to come up with the deadlock seal. The sonic screwdriver made quick work of each of the security measures in turn.

"Where can I get one of those?" Josh asked.

"You can't," the Doctor said levelly, not a threat or a reprimand this time... just a solid fact.

The door swung open - a huge blast door at least two feet thick. If the doorframe was anything to go by, the rest of this room was also just as thick, and properly reinforced. It was built deep into the crust of the planet, protected on all sides by tons and tons of earth, and even then someone ahd felt it necessary to make this room impervious to a missile attack. Why was all this necessary, the Doctor wondered as he pulled the door the rest of the way open and peered inside the chamber. "That's not supposed to be here," he said simply as he looked at the huge piece of equipment that was taking up a huge chunk of the gymnasium-sized room.

"What is it?" Howard asked.

"It doesn't make any sense," the Doctor replied. "It _can't _be." He had pulled the cover off the side of the device and was looking inside. "But look at that. It _is_. Look," he said again, pointing to components as if either of the men knew what they were. "Tremulator to refocus the energy into wave pulses, a field generator, but that focusing chamber is enormous!" he said, pulling at different components and looking at them.

"_Doctor!_" Joel said. "What _is _it?"

"A shield generator," he said. "It's generating an enormous shield, like a forcefield that covers the entire planet."

He looked to his two companions. He wasn't sure what he was expecting as far as a reaction - confusion, disbelief, annoyance. Instead, both men were staring at the device with an expression bordering on stunned reverence, their eyes wide and their mouths hanging open.

"You mean that... this is it?" Howard asked. "The generator?"

"You seem to know about this thing," the Doctor said. "What would you know about a planetary shield if you've never been outside the country?"

"What do you mean? This is _why _we can't leave."

"I've heard enough," Joel said, pulling his gun out and pointing it at the innards of the device the Doctor had uncovered. "What's the most important looking part, do you reckon he asked?"

"No, no, wait, don't," the Doctor said, stepping between the gun and the machine. "Let's just think about this."

"We have," Joel said. "This is the _only_ thing we've been thinking about for the past couple of years."

"What are you talking about?"

"We've been trying to take this thing out of commission for years now, Doctor," Howard said. "All our reports indicated it was somewhere in the mountains, as high up as it could get, but here it is! And you've led us straight to it. If I'd had any idea this was your plan..."

"This wasn't _my _plan!" the Doctor said, getting exasperated. "I _told _you what _my _plan was. My plan was to come rescue the prisoners, to rob the powers that be of the leverage they have over you. I didn't come here to destroy anything!"

"But we should do it now," Josh said, still pointing the gun at the Doctor's chest and the sensitive equipment behind it. "Who knows when we'll get another chance like this again? We never will, that's when. Your ruse seems to have worked, Doctor. There's nobody here. This place is probably usually overrun."

"Is it, though?" the Doctor asked. "Because this isn't just a reduced shift or a skeleton crew. I haven't seen anyone down here. I haven't even seen any evidence that anyone has ever been here, have you?"

"Well, they'll all be guarding the power plant, won't they?" Howard said dismissively.

"No, I don't think so," the Doctor replied. "I don't think that's it at all. Look around you! There's _no one here_! No guards, no alarms, not even a flashing light anywhere. There aren't even any engineers regulating the core. If this is the very heart of the evil empire then _where is everyone_?"

"Okay, fine. Nobody's here," Josh said. "That doesn't change anything. Where the hell they got to is not my problem. Destroying that thing is."

"Nobody is destroying anything until I say so," he said, eyes blazing. "This is a powerful piece of equipment, after all. It's built to shield an entire supercruiser from asteroids, meteors, space junk, lasers, phasers, missiles, torpedoes, disruptors, ionizer beams, particle accelerator cannons, rail launchers, mag rifles, Meson bombs, sub-Meson bombs, nuclear destabilizers, ionic destabilizers, cannons, mines, solar flares, and ion bursts, but there's really only one function I'm interested in right now."

"What's that?"

The Doctor activated the sonic screwdriver he'd snuck into his hand and pointed at the machine, and a shimmering green field sprung up, clinging to the device like a skin.

"The secondary internal forcefields," the Doctor said.

Josh shoved him out of the way and fired three rounds into the center of the machine, but they burned up harmlessly upon hitting the shield.

"What've you done?!" he asked, pointing the gun back at the Doctor, now lying on the floor.

"Just given us a chance to think," the Doctor said. "I can turn it off again, and I might do that. But not until we have all the information."

"Or I could just shoot you and take your electric key thingamabobber, do it myself."

"Be my guest," the Doctor said. "It's got 10,000 settings, though. You'd be here awhile."

Josh took a few seething breaths, in and out through clenched teeth, before he finally jammed the gun into his holster and stepped back, folding his arms. "Fine. What do we do now, o illustrious Doctor?"

"What we came here to do," he said. "Get your families out. Or had you forgotten?" From the way the younger man refused to meet his gaze, the answer seemed clear. "Thought so," the Doctor said. "Come one. We can have a little chat on the way. Someone needs to fill me in on some details."

They made their way back to the reactor control room. On their way back up, the Doctor called Quinn on the communicator.

"What the hell have you been doing?" she asked in a hushed whisper as soon as the connection was established. "The government types seem to be getting restless about something. That Sanders guy is in with Robert and I don't know what they're yelling about, but it's getting pretty ugly in there."

"Good," the Doctor said. "Let me talk to them."

"They're not just letting anyone in," she said.

"I need you to make them," he said. "Use that Quinn Fabray charm."

She rolled her eyes. "Can do," she said, marching up to the door and pounding on it as loudly as possible, not stopping until, some thirty knocks later, the door was thrust open.

"What?!" Robert exclaimed, but she didn't give him the chance to lock her out again. She shoved her way through into the tiny room, threw the communicator down on the table, and said, "Call for you, from the Doctor."

"Doctor!" Sanders said with mock enthusiasm. Robert was clearly enraged, but Sanders at least still seemed to be keeping his cool. "You don't call, you don't write," he continued. "A guy could get offended."

The Doctor wasn't playing anymore. "You lied to me," he said. "Both of you. I think you'll find you come to regret that tonight."


	13. Chapter 13

"What are you talking about?" Robert asked.

"Don't pretend you're an innocent," the Doctor replied, storming along down the corridor with Josh and Howard in close pursuit, struggling to keep up. He wasn't at a dead run but he was certainly getting close to it. He had a full head of steam now, and he wasn't willing to let it go for anyone. "I've got a pretty good idea what's going on here," he continued, "and I know full well neither of you has been honest with me. I said I would help you, and this is how you repay me?"

"Who's lied to you?" Robert asked.

"You said that you were prisoners within this country. You said the government was oppressive and wouldn't let you leave. But you've got more than that going on down here. You've got railways and hoverskiffs and ocean liners. You've got the whole planet. I took a stroll through the botanical gardens on the way here. You have plants from every ecological region on the planet. Tropics, sub-tropics, arctic, arid. You've got it all."

"I don't understand," Robert said. "Who said anything about the country?"

"I think our friend the Doctor has got rather the wrong end of the stick," Sanders said. "Most likely he hails from a land where a planet consists of more than one sovereign nation."

Quinn thought back. She was sure, positive, that she'd heard someone refer to the country, but maybe not? Maybe Sanders was right, and they'd just made a simple mistake with the nomenclature. It didn't seem like it was completely outside the realm of possibility. "So this whole entire planet is ruled by one guy?" she asked to confirm.

"Correct," Sanders said, "His Lord and Majesty."

"Alright, alright, fine," the Doctor said. "So you're keeping people captive to the planet, not to the country or the continent. Fine, that's an issue of nomenclature. But your threats are empty, Telbok, and so were your attempts to play on my sympathies, Robert. I haven't found any evidence that there are prisoners here at all."

"'Prisoner' is an ugly word, Doctor," Sanders said. "Don't you think you'd prefer the term 'political bargaining chip'?"

"I'd prefer the term emotional blackmail," the Doctor said. "For all the propaganda and all the hype, you don't have an evil empire. You don't have a regime of soldiers ready to start taking prisoners and forcing the people to do your will. You barely have enough for a regiment, do you?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Sanders said.

"I've found your base of operations," the Doctor replied. "The seat of the government's power. There's nobody here. I haven't seen a single soul since I got down here - only the people I brought with me. No guards, no scientists, nobody. Where did they all go? Did you ever even have anyone to being with?"

"Yes," Telbok said. "Yes, we did."

"And where are they now? What have you done with them?"

"Nothing at all, Doctor," the man replied. "As they've moved on to other things - other positions, other careers, and some, some leaving us for the great beyond, they've not been replaced. We don't need to fill the positions anymore."

"How long have the Anchors been in charge of the planet?"

"I told you," Howard said, speaking up for the first time since they'd left the shield generator. "There were no Anchors until there were Travelers."

"Oh, I don't think that's true at all," the Doctor said. "What do you think, Telbok?"

"I think that you've been gathering too much information, Doctor," Sanders said, "and that if you aren't very, very careful with what you do with your new knowledge, then the consequences could be very dire indeed."

"There you go!" the Doctor yelled. "Another threat, another empty rhetorical doomsday prediction that you don't have the resources to carry out."

Quinn spoke up. "But Doctor... if they're not actually going to be killing people, isn't... isn't that a good thing?"

"Oh, the best," the Doctor agreed. "But that doesn't mean that we have to like their methods. You've crafted a perfect image for your regime, haven't you? Brutish thugs who shoot first and ask questions later, a cold, uncompromising government official who threatens everything in his path. This is how you want people to see you? Like thugs out for violence? This is the image you want to put forth? Because this kind of thing doesn't happen by accident, no sir. This sort of thing is carefully crafted, every meticulous detail planned and decided by committee."

"It's worked for centuries this way," Telbok said, "and neither the King nor I myself see any reason to change it."

"You have millions of people trapped in a perpetual state of fear," the Doctor said. "Not just fear, terror! That's no way for anyone to live, day in and day out wondering if this is it, if this is the day the government is going to swoop in and kill them for believing that there's something worth seeing beyond the upper atmosphere of the planet."

"Believe me," Sanders said. "Fear is the least of our desires, but right now it's the least objectionable of the two possibilities."

"Fear's better than hope and dreams and aspirations? You can say it as often as you like but I won't believe it."

Josh had listened to the whole exchange miraculously quietly, but he piped up now during a lull in the conversation. "I don't get it," he said. "Where are we going?"

"There was a prison block on the layout plans of this building," the Doctor replied.

"So that's where we're going?"

"No," he replied. "I've got something a lot more interesting, I think."

"Like what?"

"The prison block doesn't have power," the Doctor said. "Hasn't for years. Or heat, or lights. But there's a sickbay down a few twists and turns of the corridor, and if we go there, I think we'll find something to make our day."

"Clever, Doctor," Sanders said over the communicator.

"Well, I still don't understand," Josh said. "The government's not threatening to kill anyone at all? That seemed like it was the whole message of the hijacked play."

"It is, and that's the point. If you can convince people that their dreams are hopeless, if you can convince them not to follow them, then you can win an entire war without lifting a finger, without shedding a drop of blood."

Again, Quinn had to admit, stacked up against the alternative this didn't seem too bad. "That sounds peaceful," she said.

"It sounds demoralizing," the Doctor replied. "Robbing people of what makes them alive is almost as bad as actually killing them. The body lives on, the mind too in most cases. But the soul is defeated a long time prior that way."

Quinn tried to imagine the planet as Lima, Ohio. If she did that, she could almost imagine the desperation, the feeling that you wanted nothing more than to get out of this little place and make something of yourself. It was the same feeling that'd come over her when she found out she was going to be a mother at sixteen. Okay. Terrifying.

"But Sanders told us people would be killed if we interfered here," Quinn said. "That wasn't propaganda. He just... said it."

"Another lie in a long series of them," the Doctor said, disgustedly.

"No," Sanders said. "No, it's not."

"You've lost all credibility," the Doctor said. "Especially after what I'm about to find behind Door number 2!"

They had arrived at the sickbay now, and the Doctor brandished the sonic screwdriver, pointing it at the tiny lock on the door. It opened immediately, no trouble whatsoever. A young woman looked over to the three men storming into the room and, startled, dropped a small tray. An assortment of pills skittered all over the floor as she shrieked and stepped back towards a wall.

"What the hell is this?" Josh asked, looking around the room, bewildered. An assortment of faces stared back at him from chairs all in a circle around the room. A few of the people had drinks, two were eating some kind of pie-like dessert, and four seated around a large round table appeared to be playing a game of cards.

"That's your prison," the Doctor said. "Looks a bit cozy, don't you think?"

* * *

The Doctor led the group through the facility, back up through the tree lift into the botanical garden, and closed the door hidden in the tree behind him.

"You're fine? You're really, really fine?" Josh was asking his wife again.

"Yes, perfectly," she replied. "It really was nice to get away for a bit."

"_Nice to get away_?! I've been worried sick about you! All of us in the company have, and what've you been doing? Sitting around, being waited on hand and foot, sipping wine and eating expensive desserts, all while me and the rest cried and fretted and worried that you weren't ever coming back!"

"Well I didn't know what was going on, did I?" she asked, getting defensive. "All they told us was we were being taken into protective custody because the government was so proud of your work, and they thought someone might try to use your families against you."

"Someone _did_," Josh grumbled. "The government!"

"Well _we _didn't know that!" They walked along in silence for a bit, everyone lost in their own thoughts. "Aren't you at least glad to see me?"

"What?"

"You've done nothing but scream at me since we got out of there," she said timidly. "Are you really mad at me?"

His expression softened almost immediately. "No, of course not," He said. "It's not your fault. I'm just glad I have you back," he said, slinging an arm around her shoulder.

"There's still things you're not telling me," the Doctor said into the commlink as the prisoners filed into the TARDIS. "What is it? I'm not playing anymore, this is your last chance. You've seen me at work. Sooner or later all the lies see the light of day, so you might as well just tell me."

"No way," Sanders said. "I didn't threaten you, Doctor. I made you a promise. Sometimes secrets are there for a reason and if you continue on the way you're going, there'll be deaths. A lot of perfectly innocent people."

"Why do you keep saying that?" the Doctor asked. "What does that mean? Because it's not your regime you're talking about. How many of you are there left, less than a dozen? These people could wipe you out in an afternoon if they knew how much of an advantage they had, which is why you hide behind fear and fantasy and stories about how hopeless it all is. It's a good thing they believe the line you're feeding them, Telbok, because if they didn't your power would have dried up a long time ago."

"That may be, but they do believe us, and as long as that continues to be the case everything will be fine."

"But it won't be fine," the Doctor said. "That shield generator won't last forever."

"It's powered off of the very life of the planet," Sanders replied. "If it goes, we will have gone long before."

"I don't think that's quite true. D'you, Robert?"

"I don't know what you're talking about..." Robert said.

"Really? That two-part plan of yours, in the play... that's quite clever for a man who's not a scientist. Trying to find the exact inverse wave of the shield so you can cancel it out. What kind of processing power would that take, do you think?"

Sanders scoffed before the playwright could reply. "A lot. They'd never manage it without setting off every alarm in Anchor HQ."

"Not that there's anyone there to hear it," the Doctor replied. "Only I think they've done just that."

"Impossible," Sanders said, while Robert denied the idea outright.

"The displays on the bunker set. Either your art director has an amazing grasp of 4-D entanglements or those are real data, real numbers crunching away, that he hid right under your nose, Mr. Sanders."

The silence on the line was deafening. "He did... what?"

"No snarky reply to that, eh?" the Doctor said. "Where did the idea come from, Robert? This isn't the kind of thing one just dreams up without any prior knowledge."

"I can't say any more, Doctor," Robert said.

"Nor me," Telbok said.

"Okay. That's it," the Doctor said. "Quinn?"

"Yes, Doctor?"

"Time for that plan we talked about."

"Okay," she said, then turning her attention to the two men in the room she said, "Back up, get into that corner."

"Let me think about that... no," Sanders said.

She frowned and then, reaching into a pocket built into the side of her sundress, pulled out a large, imposing-looking gun. She pointed it right at the government agent's chest, and said, "I won't ask you again."

Robert was already won over, hands in the air as he backed into the corner she'd indicated. Sanders was at least sitting up and taking notice now, his eyes widened in uncertain, cautious fear. "So that's it, Doctor? You can't win me over so you're going to have your pet shoot me?"

"I am _nobody's_ pet," Quinn said, the gun still pointed at him, unwavering. "And word of advice - don't piss off the girl with the gun."

"I'd do as she says if I were you," the Doctor said over the commlink, his voice oddly light and lilting considering his companion was threatening to shoot someone.

"I don't believe she'd actually do it," Sanders said.

"D'you want to risk it, though?" the Doctor asked. "You haven't seen the temper on her. You should have seen the look I got when I refused to pop back to the American civil war just for a watermelon. She's basically a powder keg of hormones at the moment."

"Shut up, Doctor!" she yelled. She changed her aim, pointing the gun right between his eyes. "What's it going to be?" she asked. "Are you going to do what I tell you, or am I going to splatter your brains all along the wall?"

Sanders looked at the fierce, piercing stare she was giving him, and decided that, no, he didn't want to bank on her not shooting him dead after all. Reluctantly he backed away into the corner next to Robert, hands raised above his head. She joined them in the corner, pressing the gun right to Telbok's chest. She saw him glance down at her weapon arm, calculating, thinking. Could he swat the gun away and get it himself, or rid her of it long enough to take her down? Somehow the fact that he'd willingly beat a pregnant girl didn't surprise her, but she narrowed her gaze at him. "Don't even think about it," she said. "I was a cheerleader under Sue Sylvester. I've got reflexes that'd make Jackie Chan weep." She raised the comlink up closer to her mouth. "Now, Doctor," she called out.

A warm wind whipped up around them, suddenly, and the actors lounge seemed to grow strangely dim, and the noise was deafening. The two men looked about, confused as to what was happening, but not Quinn. She knew precisely what was coming - the Doctor had planned it. The room they had been in morphed and changed, and suddenly they were standing on the ramp in the console room, while the prisoners and the Doctor stared at them. The Doctor had materialized the TARDIS around them.

"Oh, so _she's_ allowed to have a gun," Josh said, earning him a light slap on the arm from his wife.

Quinn lowered the weapon and tossed it lightly into the air towards Josh. "You were right, Doctor," she said. "Acting _is _fun."

Josh caught the gun, surprised by its lightness, and a moment later he smirked, wondering when the girl had found the time to go rummaging through Clegg's prop room to find such a realistic-looking piece.


	14. Chapter 14

"You didn't have to do _that_," the Doctor said.

"Hey, all you said was, 'If I tell you to, find a way to get everyone standing together'. You didn't give me any directions so I took my own initiative."

"Well you certainly had them convinced," he said, nodding over towards Robert and Sanders, both of whom looked stunned.

"Where are we?" Robert asked.

"On board the TARDIS," the Doctor replied. "It's time we all took a fresh look at things, don't you think?"

"The TARDIS?" Robert asked, confused. "You said that blue thing was the TARDIS."

"Yeah, it is," the Doctor told him.

"No, but, we're on a ship. You... _transmatted_ us or something."

"No transmat here. That didn't become standard until the Type 100."

"That doesn't make any sense," Robert said. "We were right there in the lounge, and then we were here. Where did you-"

Suddenly, he was silent, sensing something behind him. He turned to the crowd of people they'd taken out of the would-be prison. There was a soft, quiet shuffling in the group and then a small body pushed its way through the forest of legs that were standing around in a circle next to the console. "Dad?"

Robert's eyes went wide and he knelt down, closer to eye level with the boy. "Shek?" he asked, disbelieving.

The boy ran to his father. "Dad!"

Robert scooped him up into a hug. "I missed you, I missed you so much," he said, burying his nose in the boy's hair and holding him close to his chest, like he would never let him go again as long as he lived. "I missed you so, so much son," he said. The rest of the people, the console room, everything else may as well not have been there as far as they were concerned. Quinn looked away from the reunion, trying not to let anyone see the tear it brought to her eye, and she unconsciously placed a hand on her stomach as she cursed her damn hormones making her soft. The Doctor noticed, though, always the perceptive sort, and he gave her a quick, encouraging smile. Then as if he hadn't moved at all he looked back to the King's right hand man. Sanders was less impressed with the situation he found himself in - facing down a mob of people he'd imprisoned, the cast and crew of the propaganda-laced play who were starting to think that they could get the upper hand in the situation - and truth be told, they would probably be right - and the Doctor. The Doctor, who was glaring at him.

"So what's the plan now, Doctor?" Sanders said. "You freed the prisoners, giving almost no regard to the safety of the citizens here. I told you people would die and you don't seem to believe me. What do I have to do to prove it to you?"

"I think it's time for a new perspective on the matter," the Doctor said. "So I'm taking us up."

Sanders hadn't seemed to take this whole situation seriously any of the time that he'd been here. He had a wisecrack for everything, as if he was trying to remind everyone else that he didn't have to expend the mental effort to even rebut their arguments. He was in charge, he was powerful, and he was to be feared wherever he went. But now his veneer of calm, smug confidence cracked. "You're taking us... up?"

"That's right," the Doctor said, "up. I'm sure you've heard of it. Opposite of down? Ringing any bells?"

Sanders seemed to tense, but then he relaxed and his smile returned. "You wouldn't do that, though," he said. "You've seen the shield generator. You know how strong it is. You take this ship up there, it'll collide with the shield and kill everyone inside."

The crowd standing next to the console started to whisper and murmur at the mention of this. Quinn rolled her eyes. She was tired of having an audience for everything today.

"If we were going straight up, sure," the Doctor said. "That shield's nearly impenitrable from either direction. We'd barely have a chance to break through. But I think a shortcut is in order."

"Shortcut?"

"That's the beauty of traveling TARDIS airways," he said. "It disappears here and reappears there, without all that tedious mucking about in the ionosphere. When I say we're going up, I mean right up to the top. Outside the influence of the shield."

Sanders face paled, and for once, he seemed to be completely serious when he said, "No! Doctor, no, you can't!"

"I'm pretty sure I can," the Doctor said. "Not pretty sure, actually. Actually sure. I am definitely 100% positively sure. I got in, didn't I?"

"Okay, alright, okay," Sanders said. "You can. But you shouldn't."

"Why not? Afraid of me getting a glimpse of what's out there, of what life is like beyond this little planet?"

"No, it's not that, it-"

"No, it's not, is it? No, you're afraid I'll figure out the frequency, neutralize the shield completely from orbit. And do you know, I just might? Your planet is a prison, Telbok, and you and the king are its jailers. Maybe I'll just set the captives free... after all, the real psychos are already running the asylum."

"Don't do it, Doctor, please," Sanders said.

"It's a bit late for that," the Doctor replied. "I think it's time to show you what freedom is all about. You might be surprised."

"If you take this ship up there, you'll be the one to get a surprise!" Sanders exclaimed. "And it won't be a good one!"

"Too late," the Doctor said, throwing a switch. "We've arrived."

The central column stopped moving, and the grinding noise stopped, leaving it eerily quiet in the console room. Quinn could almost hear her own heart beating, that's now palpable the tension was in the room. The members of the theater company seemed overwhelmed with a sense of freedom and openness, their families not only getting to have them back but also getting further away from the solid ground of their planet - the only thing they'd ever known - than they'd ever been before.

There was almost a minute of pure silence as they all stood there, most of them breathing the whole sensation and situation in so as not to lose the memory, and Telbok Sanders standing there looking like he was waiting to die.

"There, you see?" the Doctor said. "Nobody's started a riot or tried to overthrow you or anything like that," the Doctor said. "Why, it's almost as if you can let people be themselves and they don't turn into violent savages any-"

He was cut short as the TARDIS shook, slightly at first but then, a few moments later, more intensely. The whole floor pitched underneath them, and just as she was about to stumble, the Doctor reached an arm out and snagged Quinn around the shoulders, helping to make sure she wouldn't fall.

"Take us back down!" Sanders said as the Doctor made sure Quinn got to the seat in the console room. "We've got to get back inside the shield, please!"

"I don't understand," the Doctor said. "What's going on?"

"There isn't time to explain," Sanders yelled, and the TARDIS shook again, "just get us inside the bounds of that shield! Now!"

"I can't do that," the Doctor replied.

"Well if you don't, this ship will be torn to ribbons!" he said.

"The TARDIS?" he said as the ship shook and shuddered again. "Not likely..." but he didn't sound as certain as he might have been under any other circumstances.

"What's out there?" Quinn asked. "What are they?"

Sanders rolled his eyes. "If you won't believe me, I'll show you," he said, and running towards the doors, he pulled them wide open, leaving a view out into space. They could see the planet below them, and out there, above it, circling, were a huge number of tiny black specks. No, not specks, Quinn realized, looking at them more closely. They were moving, and they were very far away, but they seemed to be alive. Some were in packs, flying in formation, others, seemed to be lonewolves doing their own thing as they flitted about the blackness of space.

She, the Doctor, Robert - still cradling his son - and Josh approached the door, looking out into space at the creatures. "What are they?" the Doctor didn't answer Quinn's question, just stared at them, open-mouthed, like he was seeing an impossible thing beyond the doors. "Doctor?" she asked again. "What are they?"

"I'm not sure, I can't be certain at this range but..." The ship shuddered again, and one of the creatures flew over the top of the Police Box, presenting a close and unobstructed view of the creature. "No!" the Doctor said. "No, it can't be..."

"What is it? Robert was asking now, and his son looked out at the giant winged lizard and declared them 'cool!'.

"Vortisaurs!" the Doctor said.

"Vortiwhats?" Quinn asked.

"Vortisaurs. They're a native life form of the Time Vortex. I've had run-ins with them a few times."

"What do they want?"

"They don't want anything," he said. "They're just beasts. I used to have one during my days at the academy on Gallifrey. I've run into a couple of them since then."

"You don't look happy to see them," Quinn observed.

"They feed on time energy," the Doctor said. "They can smell it a light year away. I once lured one to me over the south of France just by letting it get a little sniff of my blood. A Time Lord is like a canapé to them. The TARDIS would be a five course meal."

"Then what have they been eating all these years?"

"Good question," the Doctor said. "They shouldn't even be able to survive this long in realspace. They should have died out quite some time ago if they were just living on a few meager scraps of temporal instability this place is serving up."

"Where's that one going?" Howard said, pointing.

"And that one," Joel continued. "That whole pack is going someplace."

"Worth taking a look," the Doctor said, and he turned back to the console. The TARDIS turned on its axis, the view through the doors sweeping across to a huge... hole. That was the best way Quinn could describe it. Like out in the blackness of space someone had slashed a giant hole in the sky, which the sun and clouds were peeking through. It was like a firestorm in space, which the creatures were pouring in and out of. The Doctor looked panic stricken. "It's a hole," he said. "It's like something punched a hole in the universe."

"What could do something like that?"

He shook his head. "Not even the Daleks could do something like that. The Time Lords could have but those kinds of secrets were kept in the Black Archives... nobody would know how to do it."

"Then how did it get here?"

The Doctor shook his head. "That wasn't the right phrase," the Doctor said. "It's more like a burst aneurism, right from the heart of time itself."


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Congratulations to the new Doctor, Peter Capaldi! I can't wait to see what he brings to the role!**

* * *

Quinn had only traveled with the Doctor for a short time, relatively speaking. She'd faced crazy psychic meadows and brutal alien police with him before. He'd always had an unsettling quality about him whenever there was injustice of some kind of another for them to face, like he was trying to keep his anger and rage in check somehow and, sometimes, just barely managing. But this was new and different, this look on his face now. He was staring out the doors of the TARDIS, completely frozen, looking at the huge gash out in space that obviously meant a whole lot more to him than it did to anyone else in the console room.

He was brave - braver, she thought, than anyone she'd ever known. He'd stared down people who were doing absolutely atrocious things and never so much as batted an eye. The look he had now... it was more than just worry, it was beyond fear. The Doctor was terrified, faced with something so overwhelming that he wasn't in a position to do anything but gape at it, open-mouthed.

"Doctor?" she asked, stepping up to be beside him, gently moving anyone else out of the way. He didn't respond, so she put her arm around him as she stood right next to him, staring out at the cataclysm with him. "Doctor," she said again, a little more urgently. "What is it?"

"It's a..." he stopped, as if he were unwilling to speak the first word that came to mind. Taking a breath to compose himself, he started again. "It's a tear, a spot where something's been allowed to bleed out into reality."

"I don't understand," she said.

"The Time Vortex isn't like a... bypass or a thoroughfare," he said. "It's like the lifeblood of the universe, it's weaved into every bit of space and time, everywhere and nowhere at once. The amount of energy it should take to break the barrier and get through into the Vortex should be astronomical, off the charts. But here, it's slipping through into real space. If you look at the opening the creatures are coming from, you're staring into time itself."

She didn't have any real concept to compare that to, no idea what that actually meant in real, identifiable terms. She couldn't begin to fathom what it meant for these two nearly abstract concept to collide into one at this point. But the Doctor knew it was bad - was giving every indication, in fact, that it may as well be apocalyptic - and she didn't need to know what he meant or what it all was signifying. She knew him, and he was afraid. That was the thing that almost made her feel sick, made a gnawing worry settle into her stomach.

"I told you," Sanders said, sounding sad at the thought, rather than prideful or gloating. "If you deactivated the shield, people would die. We're not threatening to kill anyone. That doesn't mean there isn't a threat."

"How long has it been this way?" the Doctor asked, breathing hard through his nose and never breaking eye contact with the tear out in space.

"Almost since the colony was founded," Sanders said. "We started monitoring the situation ages ago. When it became obvious that the monsters - Vortisaurs, as you called them - were going to make a snack of anything that flew in or out, we grounded all spacecraft and erected a shield repurposed from one of the old cruisers."

"Why not just tell us?" Howard asked. "Why the charade, the song and dance?"

Of all the people, it was Josh who understood the government man's point, rather than anyone else. "Tell us what, exactly?" he asked, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. "'Go on about your lives, ladies and gentlemen. Death hovers above, ever-present, but please, pay it no mind.' That's hardly going to work, is it?"

Sanders nodded his agreement. "The directive for secrecy has been passed down for generations. Once the initial shock of the groundings lost its novelty, not many people even noticed. We had everything we needed here, why worry that nobody seemed to come in or out any longer?"

"Only eventually that wasn't enough for everyone," Quinn said, filling in the gaps. "You started to wonder why nobody ever looked to the sky anymore."

Howard nodded. "The younger people felt... trapped. They wanted something more. The old research about off-planet travel was difficult to resurrect from where it'd sat wallowing in a database somewhere, but eventually we were able to find a way to get a prototype ship together. Only there was no point, not as long as the shield was up. We could break atmo easily enough, but not the barrier."

"That's when people started to question the directive," Sanders said. "For the first time in decades, people started talking about wanting to leave this place. We thought, if we could unify them against key figureheads then they'd focus all their energy on us, and forget about the shield." Quinn could scarcely believe it. If what he was saying was true, then it meant everything had been an act. All of it, not just the play they'd been to tonight, but everything the Anchors and the Travelers had done, for years. All of it was fake, two sides pitted against each other, acting out a revolution where there wasn't one, neither side actually doing anything to harm the other... at least not until the Travelers cracked the code and brought the shield down, at which point they would have launched their ship, been attacked by the Vortisaurs, and probably alerted the swarm that the planet was safe to approach. He'd promised them that people would die if they kept up doing what they were doing, and he'd been right; it just wouldn't have been him to do it. Quinn sighed, wondering how to snap the Doctor out of his trance, but he beat her to it.

"It doesn't work," he said, still staring out the doors to the TARDIS. "It was a good attempt but telling people they're trapped... they'll do anything to get free."

"Yeah..." Sanders said. "So what do we do?"

"Oh, Captain, I'd have thought that would be obvious by now," the Doctor said. "I'm a man of my word, after all. I'm going to do exactly what I said I would - I'm going to free your planet."

Sanders' mouth dropped open. "You are kidding me," he said. "After all this, you're still going to lower the shield?"

"Oh, yes!" he said, with some of his wild energy returning. "But not until I've cleared out the danger."

"We can do that?" Quinn asked.

"Of course we can do that," the Doctor said. "What good is it being a Time Lord if you can't fix something when it goes wrong? The TARDIS is made for this sort of thing - exploration was a low priority on Gallifrey. If it weren't for things like this, nobody would leave the planet at all. Sealing the breach is child's play. Literally, actually, I used to love doing it."

"Then what was with that little freakout just now?"

He looked up from his work for just a moment, barely long enough to even see her, but she saw that there was still fear there, in his eyes, as he casually lied, "Nothing, just trying to remember the procedure."

"So we're just going to seal the whole thing up?" Josh asked. "Just like that, problem solved?"

"Not quite," the Doctor said. "We've still got the Vortisaurs to deal with. I've got to lure them back into the Time Vortex before we seal it up." The TARDIS started to move just as he said this, approaching the tear in the sky at top speed. Quinn shut the doors, as the spinning of the outer capsule left the outside world appearing to spin wildly and some of the passengers looked like they were about to be sick. "The hardest part is going to be getting their attention," he said. "But I can handle that. I need a syringe."

"What?"

"A syringe," the Doctor repeated. "From the medical bay, you know where it is." She nodded. "Get me a syringe, a tourniquet, and an IV bag. Hurry!"

Quinn ran off to get the items he'd requested, while the Doctor continued to maneuver the ship in closer to the breach. As they got into position, the whole ship started to pitch and shake, a low-grade rumble that made it feel like the ship was running over rough terrain or being buffeted by a strong wind from outside.

"Sorry for the turbulence," the Doctor said, "I'm teetering right on the edge of the breach, on the border between Time and Space. The TARDIS can't decide which one to be invested in. We'll soon be done, though."

Quinn returned a short time later with the things the Doctor needed in a box. He took the syringe in one hand, rolled up his sleeve and tied his arm off with the tourniquet. Then he attached the IV bag to the end of the syringe and stuck the whole thing into his arm, drawing out some of his blood which, Quinn noticed, was definitely the wrong color. It still surprised her sometimes to see proof how how not human the Doctor was, whether that was physiological or just the way he dealt with situations. It was often undeniable that this man she trusted with her whole life and the life of her daughter was actually exactly who he claimed to be, a man from another planet.

The Doctor filled the IV bag - if it were anyone else, she would have thought he would collapse after giving that much blood, but she knew the Doctor was resilient. He wouldn't feel the effects half as much as anyone else or, if he did, at least he would never let on about it. He kept a little bit back in the syringe as he sealed the bag, and handed the syringe Quinn. "Hold that a moment, come with me," he said.

The two of them went back to the door, unaccompanied this time, the TARDIS crew doing what they did best as everyone else looked on. "What now?"

"We've got to get their attention," the Doctor said. He opened the door and reached out with the bag of blood, letting it touch the very edge of the disturbance, just slightly. The TARDIS continued to buck and shudder, like a hurricane force wind was buffeting it from outside. After a few moments, the blood in the bag began to glow, shimmering and sparkling with a golden light. He passed it back to her and took the syringe instead.

"What's going on," she asked, somewhat in awe of the glowing thing in her hands.

"Time Lord blood will already get them salivating," the Doctor replied. "I've just sweetened the deal a bit, charged it up with the power of the Time Vortex. No Vortisaur in the universe could turn down a morsel like that. As he spoke he was leaning out of the TARDIS, looking around for one of the creatures. When he finally did spot one, he held the syringe aloft and, calling out, "Hey! Come and get it!" he slammed down on the plunger with all his might, sending a thin stream of his own blood flying out of the TARDIS towards the creature.

The effect was almost instantaneous. The Vortisaur made an abrupt turn and swung back to face them inside the TARDIS, opening its mouth to reveal two rows of extremely sharp teeth and probably making some sort of shrieking sound that Quinn was glad the vacuum of space kept her from hearing. "Are we going to have to lure every single one?" she asked, remembering the huge number she'd seen earlier. This could take weeks.

The Doctor shook his head, however. "We'll be fine," he said. "He'll alert the others for us."

Sure enough, the rest of the swarm was turning around, coming this direction now. They were all circling the TARDIS, none of them brave enough to make the final approach. Perhaps they knew the Time Lords from past experience, Quinn thought.

There were a lot of them now, and just as Quinn was starting to think they were just going to be engulfed and torn apart, the Doctor reached his hand out to her and she put the IV bag in it. Leaning back to get as much momentum as possible, the Doctor hurled it out of the TARDIS and into the glowing red maelstrom of the tear, the entry into the Time Vortex. "Dinner is served," he said, and the creatures almost as one body dived in after the bag, hungry for whatever it contained. As they crossed the threshold, they didn't appear to move down the tunnel so much as they faded completely as they entered... probably moving away in time as well as in space. A minute later, the rest of them had also left the planet, following the herd as they searched for something to eat. "Now to seal that breach," the Doctor said. "That's the easy bit."

He strode back over the console, setting it to work sealing the breach. Robert, still holding his son, was the one to break the silence that had fallen over the whole group. "So... that's it?"

"That's it," the Doctor said, preoccupied with his work. "Assuming, of course, that Mr. Sanders will advise the king of the situation and ensure that the shield is shut down."

"You can count on it," Sanders said.

"So now what?"

"Now," the Doctor said, "we have a play to finish up. One last curtain call."

"How do we wrap it up now?"

"We'll do what every great performance does," the Doctor said, smiling. "We'll tell them a story. A story of bravery and courage and mystery and danger... and heroes. Everyday heroes who made a difference."

Robert smiled, hugged his son tighter to his chest, and went to find the other members of his theater company. They were leaning against one of the coral pillars away from the crowd assembled in the control room. "I need you to do something for me when we get back," he said. "One of you get out to the audience. In the first row there's a woman in red. Tell her the song is back on. She'll know what it means."

"I'll do it," Josh said.

"Good. And after you do that, get Clegg to wire up a mic somewhere backstage."

"What's all this about?" Quinn asked, coming up behind Robert.

"Oh, um..." Robert turned to face her, suddenly feeling his face go red. "It's... kind of embarrassing," he said. "You wouldn't believe me."

She raised her hands up as if to encompass the impossibility of where they stood and said, "Try me."

"Right..." he said, laughing lightly at himself. "When I first had the idea for the play, before it got co-opted into something beyond my control, I had this idea for how it would finish up. There was this... song."

"What song?"

"Here's the weird part... I don't know. It's nothing I've ever heard before. Nobody else has, either. I can't find anyone who's ever heard of it. The lyrics don't even make any sense, like they're in a strange language, but I know them, clear as crystal. I... dreamed them."

"What?"

"I dreamed them. They came to me in a dream, every night for weeks until I wrote them down. And somehow it just feels... right."

"That's beautiful," she said. "It will be, I'm sure."

"Places everyone," the Doctor called out, interrupting their reverie. "Curtain time!"


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: This is the final full chapter of this story. There is an epilogue, which I'll post on Wednesday, then we jump right into the next installment. I know there are still unanswered questions from this one... they get picked up in the next episode. Think of it as a two-parter.**

* * *

Callie sat on the couch as primly as she possibly could, palms on her knees, trying to make herself look physically small, to take up as little space as possible. Every ragged breath made her body tremble. She was showing every outward sign of fear possible. It was hard, not like it had been last night. Tonight she was terrified. What if Howard and Robert and Josh never came back? But she had a part to play, and if she could do anything to help, she would. No questions asked. The man playing the captain was in position, stroking the glass of one of the picture frames. "I'm sorry, could you repeat the question captain Saunders?" she asked him.

"You heard me perfectly well," the man replied, "and you _will _give me the information I'm looking for. Now I won't ask you again. Where's the Doctor?"

"I don't know."

"Where's the case he stole from the king's chambers?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about! How many times must I tell you?"

The picture frame and the coffee table flew, just as they had before. She lunged backwards, pressing herself more fully into the couch under the towering figure now standing directly before her. He leaned down and grabbed her by the lapels of her blouse. Dragging her face up to his own, nose to nose with her now, he growled out, "I am not playing with you, you verminous insect! The Doctor is a known associate of the Travelers, a traitor to king and country. Now, you will tell me where he is, you will tell me where His Majesty's property is, and I will consider sparing your life."

He threw her back down on the couch. She stood shakily back to her feet, putting one hand to her throat and gasping for breath. Another night, another bruise.

She staggered over to the bar under the watchful gaze of the officer, getting ready to run, muscles tensing. As nonchalantly as possible she poured herself a drink. Then without turning back to him she said, "You've made a mistake."

"There is no mistake," the officer bellowed from his position near the couch. "Traffic has been intercepted between this residence and encrypted relay buoys known to be in use by the Travelers. The Doctor is most definitely a sympathizer, and I think you are hiding him."

"Then as I said, you've made a mistake." She would have raised the gun again, just like last night, but she discovered that it wasn't in the hiding place inside the bar. Someone had made off with the prop. Great. But it didn't matter - it barely had time to register in fact, before the grating sound rose up once more and the blue box started to materialize in front of them. "Because... uh... he's right here," she finished lamely.

The Doctor stepped out, looking powerful and in charge of the situation, like nothing could stand in his way. She really hoped that was true.

"Captain," the Doctor said brightly. "How lovely to see you again. How long has it been, days? Seems like just hours ago we were standing right here." That earned him a light chuckle from the audience. Good. If they liked it when he broke the fourth wall, they were going to love this next bit. "You've been busy whilst I was away," he continued. "Hunting down resistance leaders, terrifying the general population. How awful it would be if that sort of thing happened every day, hm?"

"Yes, well," the captain replied with a sneer, completely the opposite of the personality his real-life counterpart had. "Hopefully it won't come to that," he said, wearing a smirk that seemed to indicate he'd like nothing more.

"I understand the travel restriction. I can understand the greater good. The thing I can't figure is, why would you stand with the government on this one?" The question was as much for the actor as it was for the character. "I mean what does it matter to you if someone wants to get out of here, see the sights?"

"Balance must be maintained," the captain replied.

"Balance. Is that what they told you?"

The man faltered. He didn't know how his character was supposed to respond... he _himself _didn't know. Nobody had ever said a word one way or the other. "We... inferred," he said, trying to cover himself.

"I see, I see," the Doctor said. "Well, you know what they say about assuming." The actor's face was blank. "Ah. Maybe you don't. Well, _don't_ is the general gist of things."

"What are you blathering on about?"

"Let me tell you a story, captain," the Doctor said. "That's why we're all gathered here, isn't it? Who doesn't love a good story?" He sprawled out on the couch, long brown coat flapping down around him as he raised his trainers up onto the seat across from him, looking like the perfect picture of nonchalance. "Once upon a time... oh, don't the best _stories _always start that way?" Both of the other actors were staring at him without blinking. "Guess not, then," he muttered. "Right, anyway. Once upon a time, on a planet not unlike this one, there was a settlement, founded God knows how long ago. And they were led by a strong nobleman. A king.

"And he was a good king, genuinely interested in his subjects, so much so that he didn't just watch over the economy and the peace, but he kept watch over the heavens themselves. Day and night he scanned the skies for any hints of danger and, one day, he found one. The monsters that came from the skies weren't very many in the early days, but soon the kingdom was besieged by terrors from above.

"But the king was wise. He used his resources and his knowledge to erect a great barrier over the entire kingdom, sealing the creatures outside in the howling void." The Doctor glanced out at the audience. There were murmurs of recognition coming from the audience here and there. Perhaps the odd story had been passed down along with a family history every now and again. But most of all, he saw a silhouette standing up in the ornate box high above the rest of the audience. This was all sounding a bit too familiar to the current magistrate. He'd best hurry this along. Still, it seemed a shame to rush the story.

"The years passed, and the kingdom flourished. Kings came and went, each following in the shoes of the one who came before, and endless succession. It can be awfully lonely, last in a long line like that, believe you me. I should know. And one day, some of the younger subjects... and it's always the youngn's, innit... started to look up to those very same heavens, to wonder what was out there. They didn't see any danger. They saw freedom and adventure and things to learn and love and experience. But the king wouldn't take down the shield. To do so would mean death for his entire kingdom.

"The young subjects tried their best to breach the shield from the inside, not knowing that if they succeeded they'd kill everyone inside. The king had to stop it, and he did everything in his power to distract them, to give them something else to focus on, some other evil to fight. He tried to convince them not to go, that there'd be dire consequences if they did, and he was right... just not honest about the kind of danger they were facing. But say what you will about the king's motivation... he never shed a drop of his subjects' blood."

He stood up from the couch at this point, and started pacing the stage, pouring himself a quick drink from the bottles on the wet bar, pleased to discover that they were filled with fruit juice to simulate the look of alcohol. "Then one day, a knight rode into the kingdom. He saw the plight of the young people, and the threats to the prisoners. And in his pride - for which he was very, very sorry - he assumed the worst. 'I'll free you,' he promised the young people. 'I'll tear your oppressive kingdom down brick by brick.' And he set out to do just that." He was standing next to the TARDIS now, and he couldn't resist giving it a quick turn, letting the audience see all four sides. "The knight took his faithful steed, and freed the prisoners." He opened the door of the TARDIS, and Quinn exited. Then Robert, still clutching his son, Howard, and Josh with his wife. The audience wasn't reacting yet, but they would soon. Because then more people came out. Howard's parents were a little weaker, a little older, but supporting each other they made it out of the TARDIS. Lana's father stepped out and stood next to the elderly couple. When Callie's husband stepped out, she put her hand to her mouth, stifling a gasp, and looking like she was trying to hold back tears of joy. She ran to the man and kissed him hard, not willing to let him go, she'd been so afraid for him.

"Ooh," the Doctor said, and looked to Howard, who was standing on the other side of the stage, watching the exchange stoically. "I'm sorry, _Mr. Milligan_," he said, glancing pointedly at the actor. Howard didn't say anything, just made his way off stage to find Robert's soloist.

The audience was silent, watching all of this happen, not quite daring to believe what they were seeing. But the Doctor had another trick up his sleeve. "Come on," he said, leaning his head back into the TARDIS, and that was when the second wave started. A whole group of people, mothers, brothers, sisters, fathers, streamed out of the tiny box, single file, and started filling the stage. Thirty-five of them, by the time the procession was finished, filled the whole stage, and all of them had come out of that tiny wooden box. The audience was applauding now, giving the performers a standing ovation. Standing right next to the Doctor, holding his hand, Quinn basked in the applause, a grin spreading from ear to ear. Standing on her tiptoes, she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and he spun to face her, genuine surprise on his face. "What was that for?" he whispered.

"For being you," she said. "Now come on. Finish the story."

"Right." He stepped forward and raised his hands to the audience. After another half a minute, the applause reluctantly died down and the audience sat down again. He resumed his story. "The knight wasn't finished though," he said. "He stood at the edge of the barrier, saw the danger was real. And, being the brave sort of knight that he was, he couldn't just stand by and watch. So he slew the dragons in the sky, and banished them to the land of infinite darkness. Well, that might be poetic license. But with no danger to anyone any longer, that meant that the kingdom was safe, and free to open itself back up to the world. And with assurances that such a thing was going to happen, the knight rode off into the distance, never to be seen again. And I - the knight - do have that assurance, don't I?"

The door to the TARDIS opened once more, and Captain Sanders stepped out, waving to the King's box. "Oh, you do," he said. "You have my own personal assurances."

An actual government figurehead, one they all recognized, was in the play? And he'd come out of that box? The audience didn't know how to react, but one person began to applaud, then another, and then another still, and soon the entire auditorium was filled with applause once more.

"Happy ending," the Doctor said to himself, smiling. "I love a happy ending."


	17. Chapter 17: Epilogue

The audience was still applauding, when the music started. The Doctor looked around, confused, but Quinn grasped his hand again. "Sssh," she said. "Just listen. This is going to be good."

The music was a stirring movement of strings, light and lilting, seeming to be a song to celebrate the freedom the Doctor had given them. Maybe it had come from the same place the Vortisaurs had, giving Robert a little glimpse of the things to come, she thought.

Drums came in, slowly at first but gaining in momentum as the piece picked up rhythm. Families on the stage were reuniting and hugging, and several people wanted to shake the Doctor's hand. He tried to keep to himself, to shrink into the crowd, but she wouldn't let him. She pulled him along, through the crowd, letting people hug him and thank him personally for what he'd done. She knew he never got recognition like this, and she wasn't going to let him slink away and hide again without getting his fair share of the adulation for once.

The Doctor played the part of the reluctant hero well, smiling and waving here and there but still keeping close to her as she dragged him along. She was starting to realize the issue - the man, the alien Time Lord who stared down death regularly... he was _shy_. Painfully so. The fact that even he was afraid of something made her smile.

And then the lyrics started. Quinn was struck by the beauty of them. She had no idea what they were saying but they were a sort of chant, a vaguely lyrical sort of tribal sounding chant. It was beautiful, it caught the mood of the room perfectly, and she felt perfectly at peace hearing it, like it was somehow familiar even though she'd never heard anything quite like it.

Just as she was starting to enjoy it, however, the Doctor stopped, dead in his tracks, his grip tightened around her hand. She looked back at him, confusion etched onto her own features. He had that look again, that same panicked, terror stricken look he'd had before. He was listening intently, and breathing deeply. As she stared into his eyes, everything else seemed to fade away - the auditorium, the audience, the happy chatter of reunited families all around them, everything. Clegg came onto the stage and patted the Doctor heartily on the shoulder, laughing and saying something. Quinn didn't hear it. The Doctor staggered a little under the heavy impact of Clegg's broad hand, but even then he didn't break his concentration, looking straight ahead in fear.

Then suddenly he was off, in a flash. Now he was the one dragging her by the hand, shoving his way back through the crowd to the TARDIS, producing his key and unlocking it, he threw the doors open and bounded up inside. Quinn hesitated for just a moment, looking out at the audience and the cast and crew, still engaged in their reuniting, wondering what could possibly have happened now. "Whatever happened to happy endings?" she asked as she ducked inside and shut the door.

* * *

**A/N: The Doctor and Quinn will return in _Collapse Depth. _**


End file.
